CIHM 
Microfiche 
Series 
({Monographs) 


IC»AH 

Collection  de 
microfiches 
(monographies) 


Canadian  Inttituta  fo»  Historical  Microraproductions  /  Inttitut  Canadian  da  microraproductioni  hittoriquat 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes  /  Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best  original 
copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this  copy  which 
may  be  bibliographically  unique,  which  may  alter  any  of 
the  images  in  the  reproduction,  or  which  may 
significantly  change  the  usual  method  of  filming  are 
checked  below. 


0 


Coloured  covers  / 
Couverture  de  couleur 


□   Covers  damaged  / 
Couverture  endommagde 

□   Covers  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Couverture  restaurde  et/ou  pellicuide 

Cover  title  missing  /  Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

Coloured  maps  /  Cartes  g6ographiques  en  couleur 


r/i   Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)  / 
i — I   Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  no 

[Zl 


quel 

Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations  / 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 


noire) 


I     I   Bound  with  other  material  / 


D 
D 


D 


n 


Reli6  avec  d'autres  documents 

Only  edition  available  / 
Seule  edition  disponible 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion  along 
interior  margin  /  La  reliure  serr6e  peut  causer  de 
I'ombre  ou  de  la  distorsion  le  long  de  la  marge 
int^rieure. 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restorations  may  appear 
within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these  have  been 
omitted  from  filming  /  II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages 
blanches  ajout6es  lors  d'une  restauration 
apparaissent  dans  le  texte,  mais,  lorsque  cela  6tait 
possible,  ces  pages  n'ont  pas  ^t^  fiim^es. 

Additional  comments  / 
Commentaires  suppl^mentaires: 


L'Institut  a  microfilm6  le  meilleur  exemplaire  qu'il  lui  a 
6t6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details  de  cet  exem- 
plaire qui  sont  peut-6tre  uniques  du  point  de  vue  bibli- 
ographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier  une  image  reproduite, 
ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une  modification  dans  la  m6tho- 
de  normale  de  filmage  sont  indiqu6s  ci-dessous. 

I     I  Coloured  pages  /  Pages  de  couleur 

I J  Pages  damaged  /  Pages  endommag6es 

□  Pages  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Pages  restaur^es  et/ou  pelliculSes 

Q  Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed  / 
Pages  dteolordes,  tachetdes  ou  piqu^es 

I     I  Pages  detached  /  Pages  d6tach6es 

I  y|  Showthrough  /  Transparence 

□  Quality  of  print  varies  / 
Quality  indgale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  material  / 
Comprend  du  materiel  suppl6mentaire 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata  slips, 
tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to  ensure  the  best 
possible  image  /  Les  pages  totalement  ou 
partiellement  obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une 
pelure,  etc.,  ont  6t6  film6es  ^  nouveau  de  fa9on  k 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 

Opposing  pages  with  varying  colouration  or 
discolourations  are  filmed  twice  to  ensure  the  best 
possible  image  /  Les  pages  s'opposant  ayant  des 
colorations  variables  ou  des  decolorations  sont 
film6es  deux  fois  afin  d'oblenir  la  meilleure  image 
possible. 


D 

0 


D 


Thii  Item  is  filmed  at  !he  redoetleo  r«»lo  checked  be'ew  / 

Ct  rfocumtnt  tit  film4  au  taux  da  reduction  indiqui  ci-dttsout. 


lOx 

14x 

18x 

22x 

26x 

30x 

7 

12x 

16x 

20x 

24x 

28x 

.')9v 

The  copy  fiimad  h«r«  has  b««n  raproducad  thanki 
to  tha  ganaroaity  of: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


L'axamplaira  filmi  fut  raproduit  grica  i  la 
ginirositA  da: 

Bibliotheque  nationale  du  Canada 


Tha  imagaa  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  bast  quality 
possibia  considarJng  tha  condition  and  lagibility 
of  tha  original  copy  and  in  kaaping  with  tha 
filming  contfact  spacificatiena. 


Las  imagas  suivantas  ont  At*  raproduitas  avac  la 
plus  grand  soin.  compta  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  nanat*  da  l'axamplaira  filmi.  at  tn 
conformity  avac  las  conditions  du  contrat  da 
filmaga. 


Original  copias  in  printod  papar  covars  ara  filmad 
beginning  with  tha  front  covar  and  anding  on 
tha  last  paga  with  a  printad  or  iliustratad  impraa- 
sion,  or  tha  back  covar  whan  appropriata.  All 
othar  original  copias  ara  filmad  beginning  on  tha 
first  paga  with  a  printad  or  iliustratad  impras- 
sion,  and  anding  on  tha  last  paga  with  a  printad 
or  illuatratad  imprassion. 


Laa  axamplairas  originaux  dont  la  couvartura  »n 
papiar  ast  imprimaa  sont  filmas  an  commancant 
par  la  pramiar  plat  at  an  tarminant  soit  par  la 
darniAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'imprassion  ou  d'illustration.  soit  par  la  sacond 
plat,  salon  la  caa.  Tous  laa  autras  axamplairas 
originaux  sont  filmOs  an  commancant  par  la 
pramiAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'imprassion  ou  d'illustration  at  an  tarminant  par 
la  darniAra  paga  qui  cempona  una  talla 
amprainta. 


Tha  last  racordad  frama  on  aach  microfiche 
shall  contain  tha  symbol  «^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  tha  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"). 
whichever  applies. 


Un  daa  symboiaa  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
darniire  image  da  cheque  microfiche,  selon  ie 
cas:  la  symbols  -»  signifie  "A  SUIVRE".  Ie 
symbols  V  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates.  Chans,  etc.,  mey  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  lerge  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  ere  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hend  corner,  left  to 
right  end  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Lea  cartas,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  etre 
filmte  *  dee  taux  da  reduction  diffOrents. 
Lorsque  Ie  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Aire 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clicha,  il  est  film*  a  panir 
da  Tangle  supArieur  gauche,  de  gauche  *  droite, 
et  de  haut  an  bas.  w*  pranant  la  nombre 
d'imegea  nOcaaaaira.  Laa  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mOthoda. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

MICROCOPY    RESOLUTION    TEST   CHART 

(ANSI  ond  ISO  TEST  CHART  No   2) 


1.0 


I.I 


12.8 


2.5 
2.2 


2.0 


1.8 


1.25  llll 


1.6 


M  APPLIED  IIVHGE     Inc 

r*^  "^och^st*',    Ne*    fork  1*609        US^ 

■SaS  ,716)    *82    -  0300  -   Phone 

ag  i?'6)   288  -  5989  -  Fa» 


NORMAN 
lyUNCAN 


'"'Wiiiti^ 


/ 


la^   VJ<^' 


jiH.  $  t.  /f/r. 


Books  bv 
NORMAN  DUNCAN 

AUSTRALIAN   BYWAYS.     Illustratwl.     Crown  Svo 
HIGGINS:   A    MAN'S  CHRISTIAN.     Frontinpipce.     I6mo 
GOING   DOWN    FROM   JERl'SALEM.     Illustrated.     Crown  Svo 
THE  CRriSE  OF  THE   SIIINhNG    LIGHT.     Post  Svo 
EVERY    MAN   FOR   HIMSELF.     Illustrated.     Post  Svo 
FINDING   HIS  SOUL.    Illustrated.     16mo.  Cloth.  Leather 


HARPER  &   BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK 


^ 


Urjwn  ^>  litattt  Harititii 


A  CAMP  IN   THE   UESEHT 


1^1  R  \nAN 


\\  A 


AUSTRALIAN  BYWAYS 

THE    NARRATIVE   OF 
A   SENTIMENTAL   TRAVELER 


BY 

NORMAN   DUNCAN 

AUTHOR    OF 

Going  Doain  From  Jerusalem 
Finding  His  Soul,  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED     BY 
GEORGE    HARDING 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS   PUBLISHERS 
NEW    YORK    &    LONDON 


25C771 


/;^ 


l)U^lC/^|^ 


Al'STtA'.IAN    !■  -^ 

Ciniyriuhl,  mn,  liy  UrolhfU 

Printed  in  the  t'riitrd  StiiKi  ■>(  America 

Publitbcd  Srptrmbcr.  I9>S 

F-P 


CONTENTS 


I.  All  the  Way  to  Freehantle i 

II.  The  Man  with  Three  Mu.lions 6 

III.  Bowling  Along 13 

IV.  The  Revenge  of  the  Big  Australian    ...  19 

V.  To  the  Jarrah  Bush 27 

VI.  "Town  Hall  To-night!" 32 

VII.  A  Billy  of  Tea 39 

VIII.  The  Romance  of  Ol'  Dan  Dougherty  ...  47 

IX.  Coolgaroie  Forsaken 52 

X.  Neighbors  of  the  Golden  Mile 60 

XI.  The  Eternal  Flaue 65 

XII.  "Drink  and  the  DEva" 71 

XIII.  A  Day  or  Two  in  the  Drylands       ....  76 

XIV.  The  Swagman's  Story        85 

XV.  Outcast 88 

XVI.  A  Wayside  Inn 92 

XVII.  Water! 97 

XVIII.  A  Parable  of  Two  Camels 102 

XIX.  A  Night  in  the  Open 109 

XX.  Black  Trackers 113 

XXI.  Lore  of  the  Desert  Places 120 

XXII.  Sydnev  to  Queensland 129 

XXIII.  Booked  Through 132 

XXIV.  The  King's  Highway 138 


CONTENTS 

CRAP.  *•*■ 

XXV.  "Smoke  It  Up!" I47 

XXVI.  A  Butcher's  Philosophy 150 

XXVII.  A  Skeleton  Bush 156 

XXVIII.  Forty  Mile  Inn 161 

XXIX.  The  Scowling  Man 165 

XXX.  The  Sentimental  Smithy 169 

XXXI.  The  Musical  Stockman i75 

XXXII.  The  Melancholy  Landlady 178 

XXXIII.  A  Queensland  Shower 183 

XXXIV.  Troopers  of  the  Outlands 188 

XXXV.  License  to  Ku-l I95 

XXXVI.  In  the  King's  Name i99 

XXXVII.  A  Nigger  in  a  Hurricane 207 

XXXVIII.  Across  the  Coral  Sea 212 

XXXIX.  Mr.  Todd 2i7 

XL.            Quest  of  Romance 222 

XLI.            Papua 230 

XLII.          Casual  Murder 236 

XLIII.        The  Corpse  and  the  Constable 241 

XLIV.         Cannibal  Country 247 

XLV.          Sorcerers'  Work 254 

XLVI.         The  Invisible  Snake 257 

XLVII.  A  Spiritualist  of  Ferguson  Island  ....  262 

XLVIII.      Incantation 269 

XLIX.         Thursday  Island 276 

L.               Tiger-shark 282 

LI.              Pearl-shell  and  Piracy 288 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

A  Camp  in  the  Desert Frontutieu 

Australia's  Wooded  Ranges  Are  New  to  the  Ax  Fadnt  p.    32 

The  Noon-day  Rest "  ^o 

Some  Set  Out  with  Wheelbarrows— a  Hundred 

Miles  to  Coolgardie "  5^ 

Once  the  Streets  were  Filled  with  Swagger  and 

Riot "  -g 

The  First  Adventurers "  64 

"Raising  a  Bit  of  Color" "  72 

On  the  Edge  of  the  Drylands "  98 

The  Best  Trackers  are  Brought  Straight  from 

the  Bush "  ng 

The  Royal  Mail  Crossing  a  Ford "  140 

Our  Departure  from  Forty  Mile  Inn     ....  "  178 

A  Friday-night  Concert  on  the  Beach    ....  "  184 

Native  Boats  Gather  About,  Eager  to  Barter  .  "  208 
Gaudy  Head  -  dresses  and  Wild  -  beating  Drums 

Mark  the  Ceremonial  Dance "  238 

An  Attack  upon  Native  Tree-dwellers  ....  "  242 

A  Resident  Magistrate "  272 

Hauling  a  Pearl-diver  Aboard "  284 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 


■■1 

r 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 


ALL  THE  WAY  TO  FREEMANTLE 


BOUND  out  to  the  Australian  byways,  with  a 
first  landing  at  Freemantle,  of  Western  Aus- 
tralia, our  way  leading  immediately  thence  to  the 
gold-fields,  the  jarrah  bush,  the  drylands,  we  came 
at  last  to  Aden,  at  the  extremity  of  the  Red  Sea,  and 
there  dropped  anchor.  This  was  a  London-Sydney 
packet  of  fashionable  consequence — London,  Gibral- 
tar, Marseilles,  Port  Said,  Aden,  Colombo,  Freeman- 
tie,  Adelaide,  Melbourne,  Sydney;  and  Aden  was  a 
point  of  departure  for  the  India-bound  passengers, 
who  must  there  be  transferred  to  a  waiting  boat  of 
the  line,  for  passage  of  the  Arabian  Sea,  to  Bombay, 
and  for  the  American  tourists,  too,  who  had  deter- 
mined to  omit  Ceylon  and  the  Australian  detour 
from  their  long,  round-the-world  itinerary.  It  was 
late,  then,  of  a  hot,  black  December  night.  The 
lamps  were  out  ashore.  Warning  points  of  red  and 
green  and  yellow  punctured  the  black:  no  more  than 
that;  and  in  the  windy  shadows  between,  cleaving 
the   mystery,    yet    revealing    nothing    more    than 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

swarthy  glimpses,  the  little  lights  of  the  sampans 
twinkled  and  bobbed.  Into  this  moving  darkness — 
whence  the  voices  of  the  boatmen,  inimical  to  the 
imagination,  baldly  suggestive  of  the  murderous 
savagery  of  that  flaring  Arabian  coast  we  had  come 
down — into  this  moist,  moving  darkness  the  India- 
bound  folk,  familiars  of  the  Mediterranean  and  the 
Red  Sea,  followed  their  own  paths  and  were  never 
seen  again.  Each  to  his  own  mystery :  they  passed — 
and  no  curiosity  could  follow  on  into  the  shadows  to 
its  satisfaction.  Some  had  not  been  Out  before — 
wretched  targets,  these,  for  any  shafts  of  contemptu- 
ous wit :  but  most  were  leave-expired  persons,  going 
back,  wise  and  lofty;  and  a  sorry  company  all  these 
fellows  had  been,  beneath  the  laughter  and  twaddle, 
with  the  taste  of  Home  still  in  their  mouths — melan- 
choly and  out  of  temper. 

There  were  captains,  there  were  majors,  there  were 
pink  subalterns,  the  like  of  that,  returning  to  their 
regiments  and  ponies  and  to  the  merciless  social 
warfare;  there  were  civil-servants — glum,  subdued, 
well  whipped  into  reconciliation  with  their  compara- 
tive inferiority;  there  were  young  men  in  a  business 
way — of  a  cocky  habit — agoing  Out  in  bondage  to  the 
future,  which  might  yield  them,  after  fifteen  years 
of  servitude  (said  they),  a  decent  competency  at 
Home.  There  were  individuals  more  and  truly 
superior:  there  were  some  even  less  considerable. 
An  outlandish  crew,  truly — repugnant  to  the  large, 
free  ways  of  all  frontier  places:  they  had  no  Colonial 
attitude;  they  had  no  Western  flavor  at  all.  Off 
they  went,  that  night,  from  the  glow  and  litter  and 
warm  farewells  of  our  decks — bag,  baggage,  and 
women  folk;  and  with  them  went  some  of  the  divert- 


ALL    THE    WAY   TO    FREEMANTLE 

ing  aspects  of  the  voyage.  Here,  truly,  had  been  a 
great  deck-load  of  divertingly  keen  and  practised 
brutality — brutality  without  malice.  Differences — 
doubtless  of  some  important  social  sort  not  specifi- 
cally manifest — had  in  these  past  weeks  been  accentu- 
ated among  them  with  cold  good  manners  and  amaz- 
ing impudence  by  folk  of  kindliest  ways  with  their 
own  familiars. 

"Wouldn't  speak  to  me!"  the  Malay  States  Man 
of  Business  raged,  a  baleful  eye  on  a  stocky  figure, 
departing,  in  comical  little  lurches,  toward  the  gang- 
way. "Shared  the  same  room  with  him  all  the  way 
from  Marseilles,"  he  gulped,  "and  he  wouldn't 
speak  to  me!     Wouldn't  even  say  good-morningr' 

"Who— the  Majorman?" 

"The  damned  cad!" 

By  and  by  the  young  Cable  Or  Tator  went  over 
the  side  for  shore.  Aden  was  his  ^stination.  He 
had  come  in  the  accustomed  way  uf  his  duty  from 
God  Knows  Where — some  island  out-station — to 
this  blistering  desolation  for  God  Only  Knew  How 
Long  (said  he);  and  though  he  was  only  a  boy — 
and  though  he  had  chosen  this  occupation  for  the 
sake  of  the  great  adventure  of  seeing  the  world — 
he  had  now  no  gaiety.  He  was,  indeed,  deeply 
disconsolate;  and  it  seemed  to  me,  then,  regarding 
him — and  often  in  remoter  places — that  Romance 
wears  no  pretty  face  under  her  shimmering  veil. 


Here  at  Aden  the  Hook-nosed  Nobleman  departed 
— going  on  a  visit  to  some  Indian  Prince.  He  was 
a  dark  hawk;  and  so  darkly  had  he  hovered — and 
so  obscure  were  his  designs — and  so  sinister  and  sud- 
den were  his  swoops — and  so  black  were  his  manners 

3 


m 


t! 

!1 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

—and  so  churlishly  had  he  dealt  with  his  beautiful 
young  wife,  with  such  cold,  niggard  courtesy  (if  any 
at  all) — that  he  inspired  no  friendly  feeling.  Trucu- 
lent young  men  sought  occasion  of  quarrel  with  him, 
on  this  account,  and  elbowed  him  out  of  the  way, 
and  scoffed  in  his  hearing,  and  generally  frustrated 
him,  but  with  no  happier  issue  than  to  elicit  a  frigid 
indifference  toward  their  saucy  behavior;  and  all 
the  women  scorned  him — almost  all  the  women — 
with  such  fine  delicacy,  however,  in  his  presence, 
that  he  was  fortunately  not  made  aware  of  the  true 
regard  of  many.  Hence  in  the  wake  of  the  Hook- 
nosed Nobleman  the  Bibulous  Relict  went  his  per- 
ilous and  unhappy  way:  he  had  lost  his  wife,  poor 
fellow,  not  long  before,  and  he  was  now  desper- 
ately engaged  in  easing  his  sorrow  with  cocktails 
(before  breakfast),  whisky-and-soda  (morning),  gin 
(afternoon),  champagne  (dinner),  starboard  lights 
(coffee),  and  whatever  sort  of  liquor  or  variety 
of  concoction  he  chanced  to  think  of  (before  turning 
in). 

It  is  a  poor  stop-sorrow — and  somewhat  out  of 
fashion;  and  in  the  case  of  the  Bibulous  Relict  it 
seemed  once  more  to  fail. 

"You  shouldn't  be  on  the  drink,  old  chap,"  he 
would  mutter,  in  sage  and  pious  rebuke  of  his  own 
conduct. 

Here  the  American  girls  chattered  good-by — 
bound  hence  to  the  sight-seeing  paths  of  India. 
Wholesome,  pretty,  merr>'  creatures,  these — their 
social  cxiK'rience  disconcertingly  adequate,  their 
graces  blooming  unconstrained.  Their  cup  of  popu- 
larity had  overflowed:  none  more  fair — none  more 
winsome    (said   the   knowing  young  subalterns  in 

4 


I 

3 

s 

I 


ALL    THE    WAY    TO    FREEMANTLE 

their  own  vernacular) — than  these  awfully  ravish- 
ing American  girls.  "And  are  all  American  orirls 
—such  a  jolly  sort?  Really?  I  had  no  idei..'— 
genuine  amazement,  naive  condescension.  Here, 
too,  the  Young  Rajah  disappeared,  returning  from 
Eton — a  brown,  flatulent,  ill-conditioned  youngster, 
inconsequential  in  European  dress,  but  stalking 
conspicuous  and  with  some  new  dignity,  it  seemed, 
when,  east  of  Suez,  according  to  the  custom,  he  had 
put  on  his  robes  and  turban.  With  the  Rajah  went 
the  Dominie,  of  course — the  preceptor  of  that  young 
man.  He  was  a  favorite  chap:  he  could  at  a  mo- 
ment's notice  draw  a  lightsome  Yankee  rag-time 
from  the  piano — most  agreeably  aggravating  to  the 
feet — for  the  boat-deck  dances;  and  though  grave 
enough  in  the  cloth,  and  a  proper  Dominie  in  every 
respect,  he  had  won  the  spurs  of  secular  good-fellow- 
ship by  turning  up,  joyously  ridiculous,  as  an  in- 
toxicated Highlander,  kilt,  bonnet,  crimson  pro- 
boscis, and  all,  at  the  masquerade  imder  the  big 
yellow  moon  of  the  Red  Sea. 

"Good-by!" 

"Good  luck!" 

"Awfully  jolly  voyage!" 

"Good-by!" 

They  went  over  the  side. 


THE 


n 

MAN  WITH  THREE  MILLIONS 


refreshment  from  the  yeiiow    py  refreshment, 

stillness  of  the  Red  Se^".  ^^ JX^l-^nd  blew  free 
It  was  still  sunht  ^"^  hot    but^^  ^ 

and  the  days  «f  ^^le^'  .^"j  ^Stt  hZ  ran  lifting 
crawled  Uke  ^ J^^gf^f  w^a  g^'^-^-g  °^  ^^T"" 
to  ^^^^^^"^,.^!L' ace'  And  somewhat  more  than 
into  atry.  '^^er  ^^^^,  ^e  came  close  to  the  good 
n,,dwcy  ^^^^  P^fet^  in  the  way  lay  Mimcoy 
creen  earth  agam.  n^ii^  „,  •_„  «^fc  waters  of 
?lwhite  beaches,  curved,  b'^^^^"^  reef^J^a      ^^^ 

beryl  and  ^r^'.'^J^^^iht^Tsont^S.. 
flash  and  ghnt  f  ^.^^^."Xled  far-away  islands  of 
island.  After  the  d^"- ^^°^^f 'j;;'  ^^^  sands  of 
the  Mediterranean-af  ter  th^  10^'  J^  r.^ 

the  Suez  Canal  ^"^^^^  ^^^^J^^^^en  and  glo- 
^^-^^mThe^T^l  w:^no  du^Ty  shor^nor 
nous  from  tne  sea.  «  .„_._„  mast— nor  island 
haze  of  distant  ^^-"^[.^^S^ne  fertile  familiar 
in  a  mist  of  ^^^r^"\t\trchor  snug  between 
earth.    A  kittle  schooner  lay  at  ^chorsn  B    ^^^^^^^ 

r.^;:d-^^=  ^^  - ''-  -' 

green  of  the  world.  ^ 


MAN   WITH   THREE    MILLIONS 

To  us  passing  by-going  in  good  companionship 
from  a  world  to  a  world-the  situation  of  the  hght- 
keepers  presently  appeared  in  the  appalhng  reality 

of  its  isolation.  . ,    ,     ^         a     ^ 

"A  man  who  lives  alone."  said  the  Gray  Austra- 
lian Manager  of  a  Sheep  Station,  "lives  m  smgular 

danger."  ,      •  _ 

We  inquired  concerning  this  aphonsm. 

"Once  on  an  island  off  the  coast  of  Victona,  the 
Gray  Manager  explained.  "I  fell  in  with  the  son  of  a 
hght-keeper  who  had  trained  his  hair  to  he  m  the 
form  of  a  bird's-ncst." 

There  was  some  laughter. 

"It  is  perhaps  som'-^hing  to  laugh  at,'  the  C^ray 
Manager  agreed,  "bu.  I  assure  you  I  did  not  laugh 
at  the  time.  'Young  fellow,  my  lad,'  said  1,  why 
don't  you  cut  your  hair?' 

"'Why  should  I?'  said  he.  ^ 

'"Well,  for  one  thing.'  said  I,  'it's  peculiar,  isn  t 

*  ""'Not  too  peculiar,'  said  he.  'It's  my  own  busi- 
ness, anyhow.'  ^       •  i  t    -k  .   t 

'"It  may  be  your  own  business,  saul  1.  nui  i 
assure  you.  'pon  my  honor,  that  I  never  before 
knew  a  young  man  to  tempt  the  birds  to  nest  on 
his  own  head.' 

"By  Heaven,  that  pleased  him! 

'"Don't  you  think,'  said  I.  'that  it  makes  you 

rather  ridiculous?*  ,..,.,        i  ^ 

"Well."  the  Gray  Manager  declared,  he  thought 
it  made  him  interesting!  And  do  you  know '•- the 
Gray  Manager's  eyes  now  being  wide  with  the 
wonder  and  hornir  of  the  thing-  "I  cou.  hi  t  per- 
suade the  chap  that  it  was  at  all  out  of  the  way  tor 

2  7 


IV 


I 
i 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

a  young  Anglo-Saxon  to  wear  his  hair  in  the  fashion 
of  a  bird's-nest?  The  more  I  jeered— and  the  harder 
I  scolded — the  better  pleased  he  was  with  his  inven- 
tion. He  had  never  been  on  the  main-shore.  There 
was  no  bit  or  rein  on  his  notions:  life  at  the  light- 
house had  given  him  no  standards — nothing  to  con- 
form to.  I  fancied,  you  know,  that  he  was  a  bit  off. 
I  wronged  him.  He  was  quite  normal.  That  lad 
went  away  to  school  a  pitiable  ass,  his  bird's-nest  a 
perfectly  sleek  arrangement — but  came  back  clipped 
like  a  sheep.  And  that's  the  point  of  it,  and  the 
pity  of  it:  the  crazy  directions  a  healthy  man's 
ideas  will  take  when  he  lives  too  much  alone.  It's 
lonely  on  the  sheep-stations  of  the  Australian  back- 
blocks,  too,"  the  Gray  Manager  went  on,  scowling. 
"A  mob  of  human  oddities  there!  Why,  my  God!" 
— the  Manager's  voice  rose  to  a  queer  pitch  of  ner- 
vous alarm — "anything  may  happen  to  the  man 
who  lives  too  much  alone.  I  used  to  think— back 
in  the  early  days — sometimes,  you  know — that  I 
was  going  a  bit  off  myself.  It  frightened  me.  And 
I  get  in  a  blue  funk  still— when  I  recall  those  days." 

There  had  come  aboard  at  Marseilles,  privately 
conducted  by  a  weary  little  man,  a  tourist  of  gross 
looks  but  of  amiable  disposition  and  iinpeccable 
dietary  hal)its.  He  was  a  foreign-American— a  bulk'>', 
soiled,  florid  fellow,  having  a  great  neck,  which  rose 
sheer  as  a  cliff  from  his  fat  back  to  his  crown,  and  a 
slanting,  narrow,  comtgated  forehead,  and  pale  eyes, 
set  very  near,  over  high  iheek-bones.  It  turned  out 
that  he  mystified  us  all,  until,  nearing  Colombo,  his 
revelations  relieved  us.  There  were  odds  that  he 
was  a  brewer;   there  were  odds  that  he  was  a  meat- 

8 


MAN   WITH   THREE    MILLIONS 

packer  (this  occurring  to  the  English  mind) ;  yet  he 
was  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  Out  of  Marseilles 
— doubtless  to  be  of  consequence  among  persons  of 
consequence— he  had  made  this  boast:  that  though 
beginning  life  stark  naked,  in  a  mean  neighborhood, 
without  a  dollar,  he  was  at  that  very  moment— sitting 
there  in  the  Mediterranean  sunlight  of  that  very 
deck— possessed  of  no  less  than  Three  Millions.  "I 
worked  hard,"  says  he,  "and  now  I  take  my  pleas- 
ure. No  more  business  for  me.  McinGott!  Whew!" 
he  groaned,  in  such  vital  agony  as  to  make  one  wonder. 
"Business?— it's  awful!"  And  upon  many  of  these 
Englishmen— the  East-going  Englishman  not  being 
used  to  Americans  and  the  Atlantic  passage— the 
announcement  of  this  astonishing  feat  of  accumula- 
1  ■  '.  had  precisely  the  effect  the  American  Millionaire 
iii'cndcd. 

It  drew  a  quick,  appraising— even  momentarily  re- 
spectful—glance to  his  very  gross  person;  and  it  re- 
sulted—momentarily—in  a  mure  moderate  tone. 

"Pretty  fair,  eh?"  the  American  Millionaire  would 
inquire,  with  a  smack  of  the  lips,  indicating  ingenuous 
self-satisfaction.     "Three  millions?" 

Rather! 

"Eh?"  he  demanded,  his  head  cocked,  his  round 
face  radiant.  "That's  all  right,  ain't  it— for  a  man 
like  me?    Gee-— it  certainly  is  all  right!" 

It  measured  little  less  than  a  miracle. 

"We  go  'round  the  world,  my  wife  and  mc,"  said 
he.     He  laughed;   he  jwkod  his  audit(jr  familiarly  in 
the  ribs.     "She  sees  the  cathedrals,"  he  chuckled 
"and  I  sit  in  the  cabs!" 

On  this  long  voyage  ciiriositv  indulges  in  (|ueer 
employments.     How  had  this  llabby  fellow  managed 

y 


1 1", 


», 


111 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

to  accumulate  the  Three  Millions  ?  Straight  business  ? 
— he  was  far  too  stupid.  Speculation? — he  was  in- 
finitely too  timid.  It  was  an  aggravating  mystery. 
He  had,  perhaps,  a  merciless  cimning;  yet  he  was 
a  coward — the  sort  of  coward,  it  might  be,  who 
strikes  on  the  sly,  deeply,  desperately,  and  runs  away. 
All  being  said,  however,  here  was  a  fellow  with  genial 
aspects,  after  all.  His  eyes  twinkled:  a  nudge  in 
the  ribs  made  him  spill  laughter.  There  he  would 
sit,  bulk  overflowing  and  protruding,  fat  legs  crossed, 
cigar  in  hand,  his  large  countenance  beaming  enjoy- 
ment of  the  scene  and  sympathy  with  its  brilliant  lit- 
tle diversions.  But  let  one  speak  intimately  of  money 
— of  the  ways  of  gathering  and  the  means  of  holding 
fast — and  his  face  would  screw  up,  his  eyes  waver, 
his  great  body  grow  restless;  and  sometimes,  indeed — 
if  one  suggested  panics  and  loss — he  would  drip  with 
sudden  sweat,  the  while  protesting,  excitedly:  "I 
got  mine  safe!  Nobody's  going  to  rob  me  of  nothing! 
No  more  business  for  me.  Mein  Gott!  Whew!  It's 
awful — awful !"  All  this  mystified  the  inquiring  mind 
and  piqued  its  curiosity. 

"I  tell  you,"  said  he,  of  his  own  notion,  this  last 
night  of  the  passage  to  Colombo,  beginning  the  tale  of 
the  low  cunning  of  his  success,  "I  made  my  money 
in  real-estate  deals.  I  used  to  be  a  Police  Captain 
in  New  York.  .  .  ." 

And  then  we  thought  we  knew  the  beginnings  of 
that  fortune. 

Hitherto  \vc  had  followed  a  main-traveled  road. 
London  to  the  East:  it  is  a  highway  thronged  with 
merchantmen  and  mail-boats — the  motley  and  aris- 
tocracy of  the  sea,  surging  west  and  cast:   tramps, 

lO 


MAN   WITH   THREE    MILLIONS 

pUgrim-ships,  liners,  old  wind-jammers,  lateen  rigs, 
men-o'-war.  Now  we  entered  a  long  by-path,  like 
a  wilderness  trail;  and  we  traveled  without  com- 
pany, meeting  none.  Colombo  to  Frcemantle  of  West 
Australia :  it  is  nine  days'  sailing — a  blue,  breezy  way 
over  the  Line  and  across  the  Trades.  Few  follow  it; 
many  will.  Australia  is  a  vast,  inviting  p'ace:  it 
measures  four  hundred  and  twenty-two  miles  more 
in  area  than  the  United  States  of  America  proper,  it 
is  more  than  one-fourth  the  area  of  the  British  Em- 
pire, it  equals  nearly  three-fourths  the  area  of  Europe; 
and  in  these  early  days  it  has  something  less  than  one 
and  one-half  inhabitants  to  the  square  mile.  And  so 
wide  is  the  land  four  Australians  maintained) — and  so 
fertile  are  the  possibilities  of  much  of  it — and  so  profit- 
ably does  it  stretch  into  the  abundant  tropics — and  so 
free  and  beneficent  is  the  disposition  of  the  govern- 
ment— and  so  just  are  all  the  laws — and  so  large  is  the 
aspiration  and  power  of  the  people — and  so  deter- 
mined are  they  to  conceive  and  maintain  liberty  as 
between  the  rich  and  the  poor — that  the  overflow  of 
humanity  will  presently  set  toward  the  Southern 
Cross  and  occupy  all  these  waiting  acres. 

It  is  a  singular  thing  that  no  Englishman  will  on 
this  voyage  be  mistaken  for  an  Australian  if  he  can 
help  it. 

*'I  suspect  that  Cockney,"  said  one. 

"Of  murder?" 

"No,"  the  Englishman  replied,  gravely  concerned, 
as  though  it  mattered  greatly;  "of  being  an  Aus- 
tralian." 

"But  he  says  he's  an  Englishman!" 

"Ah,  well,"  he  rejoined,  cunningly,  "they  often 
do  that,  you  know!" 


h 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

Travelers  bound  for  Singapore  and  Hong-Kong 
went  ashore  with  the  tea- planters  of  Ceylon.  Our 
company  dwindled.  Beyond  the  color  and  soft 
movement  and  mellifluous  voices  of  Colombo — its 
shady  highways,  its  temples,  its  barefoot  Eastern 
throng,  its  busy  harbor — we  numbered  not  more 
than  fifty.  Most  were  Australians,  in  good  quality, 
like  the  people  of  our  West,  with  some  surface  dif- 
ferences, but  none  of  very  great  account.  They  were 
going  home  from  Home — as  they  put  it.  I  recall 
that  the  Gray  Station-Manager  said  this:  that,  hav- 
ing a  son  to  settle,  he  had  been  gone  on  a  visit  to  all 
the  other  stock-lands — South  Africa,  the  Argentine, 
the  American  West — but  had  spied  out  nothing  in 
the  world  to  compare  in  sound  ojiport unity  with  the 
Australian  acres,  upon  which  he  would  surely  establish 
the  boy  (said  he)  for  his  venture.  I  recall,  too,  a  stolid 
Englishman,  traveling  with  all  the  less  conspicuous 
appearances  of  great  wealth,  mixed  with  astonishing 
originality  of  attire,  such  as  tiousers  creased  in  re- 
verse of  the  ic  hion  (to  port  and  starboard) — an  odd 
fish,  truly,  whose  vast  fortune  had  of  itself  evolved 
(they  explained)  from  a  game  of  euchre,  played  in 
some  lonely  camp  of  the  early  days,  for  a  fifth 
interest  in  what  is  now  become  the  Amazing  Mine. 

It  is  a  horsy  people. 

"There's  my  beauty i"  said  the  Australian  Stock- 
Brokcr,  displaying  the  photograph  of  a  stturdy  little 
boy  astride  a  slim  horse. 

"Fine  boy,"  I  agreed. 

"Oh,"  said  he,  •'that's  my  son!" 

"Fine  horse,"  said  I,  quickly. 


Ill 


BOWLING   ALONG 


^1 


A  SERIOUS-MINDED  Sports  Committee,  chosen 
with  serious  and  exact  observance  of  the  cus- 
toms estabUshed,  held  serious  meetings  under  the 
smoking-room  clock,  and  talked  a  great  deal  with 
serious  countenances,  in  seriously  modulated  tones, 
and  seriously  consumed  ginger  ale,  lemon  squash, 
and  whisky-and-soda,  and  at  last,  much  to  the  sur- 
prise of  everybody,  announced,  with  jolly  faces,  a 
tournament  of  games  and  jousting  of  the  most  de- 
lightfully lively  and  frivolous  description.  Nor  was 
it  in  meager  measure :  the  Atlantic  passage  sometimes 
provides  a  beggarly  afternoon  of  these  pleasures;  but 
the  Australian  voyage  prescribes  and  invariably  ac- 
complishes whole  days  of  them,  all  governed  by  the 
traditions,  so  that  the  suggestion  of  an  innovation  is 
dismissed  with  "It's  never  been  done  before,  you 
know!"  and  an  objection  is  disposed  of  with  "But 
it's  always  been  done  that  way,  you  know!"  And  so 
there  were  qaoits  and  shuffle-board,  singles,  doubles, 
and  ladies;  and  there  were  potato  races,  thread- the- 
needle  races,  three-legg.d  races,  and  sack  races;  and 
there  was  cock-fighting  in  a  circle,  pillow-fighting  on 
a  spar;  and  there  was  a  preposterous  contest  in 
which  tlie  wretched  competitor  was  suspended  by 

13 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

the  heels  from  an  overhead  stanchion  and  invited  to 
make  a  chalk  mark  on  the  deck  as  far  away  from  his 
perpendicular  as  he  could  manage  to  stretch  him- 
self. 

These  were  lively  days,  indeed,  lived  rolling 
through  the  breezy  sunshine;  and  for  all  the  good 
feeling  and  all  the  laughter  of  them,  according  to 
the  custom,  the  haggard  Sports  Committee  was 
voted  the  thanks  of  all  the  company,  in  a  warm  little 
speech  after  dinner,  and  then  most  heartily  toasted. 

"Your  health,  gentlemen!" 

"Hear,  hear!" 

"If  I  may  be  permitted."  the  Chairman  of  the 
Sports  Committee  began,  "to  say  a  mere  word  or 
two  in  response  to — " 

"Oh,  don't  do  it!"  groaned  the  Tired  Old  Globe- 
Trotter,  much  more  lustily  than  he  knew. 

"Ha,  ha!    Haw,  haw!" 

"Shame!" 

"Hush!" 

The  Chairman  of  the  Sports  Committee  was  not 
to  be  deterred,  you  may  be  sure,  by  the  distress  of 
the  Tired  Old  Globe-Trotter. 

Deck  cricket— for  which  the  leeward  boat-deck 
was  inclosed  with  a  net— was  a  regular  employment 
of  the  afternoon;  not  the  least  astonishing  thing 
about  it  being  this:  that  the  players  turned  out  to 
the  exercise  in  flannels  and  blazers,  in  every  respect 
the  correct  attire  for  chaps  at  cricket  ashore.  And 
m  the  course  of  the  voyage  Second  Class  challenged 
First  Class.  First  Class  accepted  the  challenge; 
and  First  Class  desired  to  know:  Where  did  Second 
Class  prefer  to  play?    Second  Class  communicated 

14 


BOWLING   ALONG 

a  reply  to  the  effect  that  Second  Class  preferred  to 
play  on  the  second-class  deck.  vSecond  Class,  it  was 
pointed  out,  had  challenged  First  Class  to  come  over 
and  play— thQ.t  being,  it  would  be  recalled,  the  exact 
form  of  the  challenge.  Just  so;  but  First  Class  was 
quite  sure  that  the  first-class  deck  would  turn  out  to 
be  a  more  spacious  and  altogether  agreeable  field, 
and  accompanied  this  communication  with  an  invi- 
tation to  Second  Class  to  come  over  and  have  it  out. 
Second  Class  accepted  the  kind  invitation  of  First 
Class  for  the  following  afternoon  at  2.30  o'clock — 
provided,  however,  that  First  Class  would  indulge 
Second  Class  with  the  compliment  of  a  return  match 
on  the  second-class  deck,  and  after^vard  drink  tea 
with  Second  Class  in  the  second-class  saloon.  All 
this  turning  out  to  be  agreealile  to  both  sides,  First 
Class  appointed  a  Committee,  the  same  being  a 
Committee  of  the  Whole  Team,  to  entertain  Second 
Class  after  the  match,  and  thereafter  placidly  awaited 
the  coming  of  Second  Class,  confident,  now,  that 
nothing  could  go  amiss. 

Nothing  did  go  amiss.  Both  games  were  played 
with  the  utmost  good  feeling  on  both  sides:  where- 
after there  was  no  further  communication  of  First 
Class  with  Second  Class,  nor  of  Second  Class  with 
First  Class. 

"vSome  jolly  chaps  in  Second,"  yawned  First. 

Not  too  bad! 

"Some  decent  blokes  in  First,"  yawned  Second. 

It  was  not  the  way  of  Second  Class  to  skulk  and 
env>'  and  feel  ashamed.  Second  Class  respectfully 
respected  itr.elf— and  immc.  .oly  enjoyed  itself. 
Second  Class  had  a  ma.squcrade — occasional  dances, 
too— and  indulged  in   Calcutta  Sweeps.     And   the 

IS 


ii 


il 


if 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

upper  crust  of  Second  Class  dressed  every  night  for 
dinner. 

East  of  Suez  came  the  Calcutta  Sweeps.  Here  is 
a  traditional  diversion  of  these  seas — a  great  pool 
on  the  day's  nin ;  and  it  was  managed  in  this  wise : 
As  many  chances  were  sold,  at  a  shilling  each,  as 
the  Calcutta  Committee  for  the  day  could  manage 
without  straining,  one  to  the  timid  or  pious,  as  the 
case  might  be,  and  twenty  or  thirty  to  all  tnie  specu- 
lators. The  Cai)tain  declared  a  number  as  being 
the  best  probability.  It  was  380.  Twenty  numbers 
were  taken  above  this,  and  twenty  below,  with  a  high 
field  (above  the  highest  number)  and  a  low  field 
(below  the  lowest) ;  and  there  was  a  first  prize,  the 
winning  number,  ten  per  cent,  deducted  for  the 
day's  charities;  aud  there  were  two  second  prizes, 
ten  above  the  winning  number  and  ten  below  it,  ten 
per  cent,  deducted  for  charity.  Eventually  there  was 
a  drawing,  conducted  with  great  ceremony  by  the 
Calcutta  Committee,  to  determine  the  holders  of 
the  forty-one  numbers  and  the  high  and  the  low 
fields;  but  these  fortunate  folk  did  not  possess  final 
title  to  the  numbers  they  had  drawn ;  all  the  numbers 
were  put  up  at  auction,  the  proceeds  going  into  the 
pool,  and  the  holders  were  entitled  either  to  accept 
one-half  the  amount  bid  and  yield  all  interest  to  the 
bidder,  or  to  pay  half  the  amount  bid  and  retain  a 
half  interest  in  the  outcome. 

And  so  syndicates  were  formed,  and  shares  were 
bought  and  sold,  and  the  current  was  estimated, 
and  the  Chief  Engineer  was  subtly  sounded,  and  the 
revolutions  of  the  screw  were  counted  by  old  gentle- 
men with  their  ears  cocked  and  watches  in  their  hands. 

16 


BOWLING   ALONG 


As  for  the  ultimate  value  of  the  pool,  that  de- 
pended on  the  biddinj^,  and  the  spirit  of  the  bidding 
depended  larj^cly  on — 

"A  beggarly  CSo  in  the  pool !"  cried  the  auctioneer. 
"Fie,  gentlemen!  One  might  think  you  had  not 
dined." 

Shortly  after  dinner,  or  sometimes  late  of  a  warm 
afternoon,  a  bell  was  rung,  like  a  general  alarm,  by 
some  muscular,  earnest  steward — clanging  a  stirring 
summons  along  the  decks  and  through  the  corridors 
— to  announce  the  auction.  And  the  deck  chairs 
were  abandoned,  and  all  the  shadowy  corners  were 
deserted,  and  the  staterooms  were  vacated,  and 
Cocktail  Alley  was  emptied  of  cigarettes  and  li- 
queurs, and  there  was  something  nearly  resembling 
a  stampede  to  the  smoking-room,  where  the  auc- 
tioneer and  his  clerks  were  waiting.  The  smoking- 
room  overflowed  with  the  ladies  and  gentlemen,  all 
flashing  and  glistening  and  buzzing,  and  the  doors 
were  jammed  with  perpendicular  black  and  white, 
both  lean  and  portly,  and  heads  were  thrust  through 
the  port-holes  (bids  being  accepted  from  any  van- 
tage). And  presently  the  auctioneer  perched  a 
rusty  top-hat  over  his  right  ear,  noisily  employed  his 
gavel,  made  a  speech,  appealing  to  the  beneficence 
of  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  behalf  of  the  widows 
and  oq:)hans  of  'lU  sailors,  and  thereafter  proceeded 
to  dispose  of  the  numbers  to  the  highest  bidders, 
bowling  along  so  vivaciously,  indeed,  with  a  patter 
so  lifelike  and  witty,  beseeching  the  ladies  to  bid  up 
the  numbers  of  the  popular  gentlemen,  whom  he 
named,  and  entreating  the  gentlemen  to  the  gallantry 
of  bidding  up  the  numbers  of  the  most  po])ular  ladies, 
whom  he  did  not  name — all  so  cunningly  that  he 

17 


i 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

was  voted  the  very  most  amusing  auctioneer,  as  well 
as  the  most  successful,  who  ever  sold  Calcutta  num- 
bers (to  which  even  the  Tired  Old  Globe-Trotter 
agreed). 

In  the  course  of  the  graceless  business  of  hawking 
Calcutta  shilling-chances,  one  morning,  the  Polite 
Australian  encountered  the  Member  of  the  Best 
London  Clubs. 

"Calcutta,  sir?"  he  invited,  pencil  poised. 

A  stare  was  the  best  he  gained. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  really,"  he  stammered, 
flushing,  "but  unfortunately  I — " 

"Can't  you  see,"  the  Member  of  the  Best  London 
Clubs  scolded,  petulantly,  indicating  a  man  with 
whom  he  was  passing  the  time  of  day,  "that  I  am 
talking  with  a  gentleman?" 

"I  thought  /  was,"  murmured  the  Polite  Aus- 
tralian. 


I 


IT  was  not  incongruously  splendid;  it  was  not  a 
floating  hotel — the  Atlantic  boast.  Here  was  an 
airy,  adequate,  austerely  simple  ship — a  disciplined 
vessel  in  every  respect.  There  was  nothing  tawdr>' : 
the  very  decorations  lifted  their  eyebrows  and  re- 
marked in  a  superior  fashion,  "Obser/e  that  there 
is  nothing  vulgar  about  us,  and  permit  us  to  hope 
that  there  is  nothing  vulgar  about  yon!"  Breakfast 
was  of  small  consequence  in  a  .social  way.  A  me- 
chanical "Good  morning"  jjassed  muster.  Custom 
seemed  to  allow  some  latitude  of  behavior  at  lunch- 
con,  too — a  dilatory  arrival,  a  departure  out  of  sea- 
son; but  dinner  was  conducted  with  great  pro- 
priety, as  on  shore — that  decorum  which  celebrates 
the  Line  above  all  other  lines.  And  this  was  en- 
gagingly remarkable  in  contrast  with  the  confusion 
and  easy  manners  of  the  Atlantic  passage.  There 
were  no  tdtc-d,-titc  tables — there  was  no  mixture  of 
tweeds  and  broadcloth,  of  shirt-waists  and  decollete 
gowns — there  were  no  bewildered  stewards— there 
was  no  clatter  of  dishes — there  was  no  balx-'l  or  im- 
propriety of  any  sort  whatsoever.  It  was  an  order- 
ly procedure,  timed  and  directed  by  a  grave  upper- 
steward  with  a  gong,  course  upon  course,  until,  in 

19 


ii, 


IV 


THE   REVENGE   OF   THE    B.' 


\USTr<.\LI..N 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

due  time,  the  ladies  graciously  moved,  and  the 
amiable,  flowing  hour-and-a-half  came  to  an  end, 
to  be  somewhat  prolonged  with  liqueurs  and  ciga- 
rettes in  Cocktail  Alley  and  the  smoking-room,  be- 
fore the  languorous  night  drew  its  own  followers  to 
the  boat-deck  and  to  a  sentimental  worship  of  the 
stars. 

It  was  at  dinner  that  the  Big  Australian  trapped 
and  confounded  the  Chief  Officer  who  had  given 
him  off'ense :  the  simple  passage  being  remembered 
thereafter  as  The  Revenge  of  the  Big  Australian. 

"I  say.  Chief,"  said  he,  with  wily  humility,  "would 
you  be  good  enough  to  help  us  with  a  little  problem 
in  navigation?" 
To  be  sure! 

"Quite  so,"  said  the  Big  Australian,  his  gray  eyes 
glittering.  "Suppose,  then,  that  you  were  at  the 
North  Pole—" 

"I  never  was,  you  know!" 

"Of  course  not!     But  suppose  you  were.     And 
su[)pose  you  sailed  directly  south—" 
"It  couldn't  be  done!" 

"Oh,  pshaw,  Chief!  Of  coity.sc  il  ouldn't  be  done. 
But  if  i)ossiI)le,  suppose  it  ccnild.  Supi)ose  you  were 
at  the  North  Pole— and  suppose  you  sailed  directly 
south  om-  hundred  and  sixty  miles-  and  suppose 
you  sailed  directly  east  two  hundred  and  sixlv 
miles—"  ^ 

"Pencil?     Thank  you.     Carry  on." 

"What  course."  the  Big  Australian  gravely  pro- 
pounded, "would  you  stcvr  to  get  back  to  your 
starting-point  ?" 

"I  am  at  the  North  Pok-,"  the  Chief  Onicer  re- 
hearsed.    "Du  I  take  you?    Quite  so.     I  sail  south 

30 


REVENGE    OF    THE    AUSTRALIAN 

one  hundred  and  sixty  miles — I  sail  cast  two  hundred 
and  sixty  miles,  (j  lite  so.  What  course,  then, 
shall  I  sail  to  get  back  to  my  starting-point?  Is 
there  an  argument?  Quite  so.  Let  mc  sec  if  I 
can't  solve  this  for  you. .  .  .  Hm-m.  .  .  .  Quite  so.  .  .  ." 
It  was  pitiful:  the  Chief  Officer — and  an  excellent 
officer  he  was — had  fairly  gulped  the  Big  Austra- 
lian's obvious  hook.  And  the  simple  fellow  turned 
over  his  menu  card,  and  gazed  ponderously  at  its 
blank  surface,  and  put  his  head  on  one  side,  and 
wrinkled  his  brow,  and  pursed  his  lips,  and  drew  a 
triangle,  and  described  an  arc,  and  began  to  calcu- 
late like  lightning — indulging  in  addition,  sul)trac- 
tion,  multiplication,  and  division,  with  flights  into 
those  higher  mathematics,  doubtless,  which  have  to 
do  with  the  mysteries  of  navigation.  Time  ])asscd 
all  too  delightfully:  the  rose  and  blue  faded  beyond 
the  rolling  port-holes — and  the  yellow  light  of  the 
saloon  asserted  itself  above  the  failing  glow  of  eve- 
ning— and  the  merriment  all  roundabout  seemed  loud 
in  contrast  with  our  silence — and  the  brown  stewards 
l)assed  in  horror  of  this  interruption — and  the  Big 
Australian  twinkled  a  naughty  and  merciless  enjoy- 
ment— and  we  all  of  us,  a  breathless  company,  in 
heathenish  amusement,  continued  deeply  intent 
upon  the  Chief  Officer's  engagement  with  his  ]irob- 
lem,  half  dreading  the  effect  of  the  disclosure  upon 
his  pride  and  remarkable  dignity. 

"In  general  terms,"  the  Big  Australian  softly  in- 
sinuated. 

"Course  in  general  terms?" 

"Quite  so." 

It  was  exi)Ucit:  the  Chief  Officer  could  not  now 
take  sanctuary  in  the  Magnetic  lV)le  and  the  dcviu- 

21 


1^ 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

tions  of  the  Magnetic  Needle.     "A  difficult  matter  " 
he  complained,  scowling,  "to  work  this  out  offhand'" 
'Oh  no!"  scoffed  the  Big  Australian. 
"But  I  say  it  is.'"  the  Chief  Officer  snapped 
"In  general  terms?"  the  Big  Australian  mocked 
iNothmg  simpler,  my  dear  chap!" 
"M>   dear  chap,"   the  Chief  Officer  demanded, 
angrily,      what  course,   in  general   temis.   would  a 
la}idsman  sail  to  get  back  to  the  North  Pole?" 
"North,"  said  the  Big  Australian." 
The  Chief  Officer  was  very  much  annoyed. 

We  crossed  the  Line.     There  ^^ore  no  ceremonies- 
some  aaidi>nt-occurring  on  a  long-previ.ms  voy- 
age-^-had  issued  in  ihe  disc-hargc  of  Father  Neptune 
from  h.s  ancient  activities.     It  was  hot  weather    to 
be  sure-blazing  days,  spent  in  shade  and  sleep,  and 
moist  nights,  pa.sscd  in  the  wind  on  deck;  and  little 
gusts  of  lukewarm  rain,  seeming  to  gather  under  the 
b  uc  sky  n  ar  by,  swc-pt  the  decks  like  steam,  drv-ing 
almost  instantly  in  the  sun  and  hot  brecve     And 
now  the  English  Officer  ,.f  Militia,   doubtless  ag- 
gravated by  the  heal,  stumbled  into  the  center  of 
the  spectacle.     He  was  a  gray,  crisp  Englishman, 
creased  ami  combed  and  wa.xc.l.   carrying  himself 
with    precision,    in   a    hothouse    nrlilarv   wav     but 
turning  a  bit  portly  un<irr  the  belt.     It  seemed  he 
would  have  no  trallic  at  all  with  Australians-    he 
mistrusted  Australians,  he  detested  Australians  (.ai.l 
he)-their  deeds,    their  manncTs.    their  code,    their 
damned  habitat.     He  was  going  Out   (said  he)   to 
protect  his  Australian  estate  from  a  Oang  of  R-i- 
pacious   Robbers.     Indeed,    he  went    the  length  of 
dcclanng-which  no  man  of  reason  and  sensibility 

22 


REVENGE    OF    THE   AUSTRALIAN 

should  do— that  the  present  generation  of  Austrah'ans 
resembled  in  its  practices  those  thieves  and  thugs 
among  its  forefathers  who  had  been  sent  out  to  the 
colonies  for  their  country's  good.  These  bitter 
words  were  uttered  with  a  quick  flush,  an  angry 
flash:  they  were  manifestly  the  explosion  of  pique 
and  prejudice;  and  more  than  one  indignant  Aus- 
tralian promptly  challenged  the  justice  of  their 
employment. 

It  seems  that  the  grandfather  of  this  Officer  of 
Militia  had  in  his  time  acquired  a  certain  tract  of 
good  Australian   earth,   cither  by  purchase,  which 
was  honorable,  or  in  reward  of  service  to  the  govern- 
ment of  those  days,  which  was  even  more  honorable 
still.     In  the  course  of  events  this  selfsame  tract  of 
land  had  descended  to  the  Officer  of  Militia;  and  the 
Officer  of  Militia  had  thrived  large  and  hap]-)ily  by 
means  of  it— and  lived  in  England,  an  absentee  land- 
lord, as  the  Australian  jihrase  angrily  i)uts  it.     It  is, 
however,  the  custom  of  the  wirious  Australian  states 
to  "resume"  for  closer  settlement  or  other  purijose 
such  tracts  of  land  as  may  apjjcar  to  be  needed  to 
increase  the  welfare  of  the  whole  peoj)lc.     No  land- 
lord is  wronged  of  his  estate:   generally  speaking- 
governments  being  notoriously  free  in  this  respect- 
notice  of  resumption   is   an   occasion   of   rejoicing. 
New  South  Wales  had  cimninglj-  resumed  the  lands 
of  Government    House  and  evicted   the  Oovernor- 
Gencral  of  the  Commonwealth.     Why  should  any 
state  hesitate  over  an   absentee  English  Officer  of 
Militia?     And  the  lands  of  the  Officer  of  Militia, 
being  needed,  had  been  resumed  at  a  price— the  de- 
tail of  the  bargain  still  hanging  fire.  I  fancy.     But 
in  the  mean  time  the  government  had  discfo-^cd  its 
3  ^i 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

purpose  to  undertake  certain  very  important  public 
works  in  the  immediate  neij,'hborhood  of  the  re- 
sumed tract,  whereby  its  vakie  would  be  enormously 
increased:  the  difTercnce  would  be  equal  to  the  gulf 
between  farm-lands  and  suburban  lots;  and  it  was 
for  this  reason  that  the  Officer  of  Militia  was  bound 
Out  to  protect  his  inheritance. 

It  was  at  the  mas(]ucrade  that  the  Big  Aus- 
tralian fell  foul  of  the  Officer  of  Militia.  For  the 
time  being  the  Officer  of  Militia  represented  a  Master 
of  the  T?ox  Hounds;  and  the  Big  Australian— what 
with  powder  and  paint  and  borrowed  petticoats  and 
jewels  and  curls— more  or  less  nearly  resembled  a 
memoer  of  the  very  back  row  of  the  corps  do  ballet 
except  for  his  cigar. 

"Your  government  is  rooking  me!"  the  Officer  of 
Militia  raged. 

"Faugh!"  snorted  the  Big  Australian. 

"Isn't  it  my  land?" 

"Aren't  we  paying  you  for  it?" 

"It's  my  land,  sir,  and  you're  not  paying  me  what 
it's  going  to  be  worth." 

^^  ''Goiug  to  be  worth!"  the  Big  Australian  laughed, 
"lla,  ha!  Why  should  wc  j)ay  you  what  it's  ^'6»/;;^' 
to  be  worth ?  What  have  you  ever  done-  what  amid 
you  do— to  make  it  worth  what  it's  going  to  be  worth ' 
Ha,  ha!" 

"When  the  government  builds—" 

"YoH  aren't  putting  ui)  any  buildings!"  roared 
the  Big  Australian. 

"It's  my  land!"  bawled  the  Offici-r  of  Militia. 

In  this  way  the  encounter  progressed  from  the 
glow  of  an  agreeable  academic  discussion  to  tlic  white 
heat  of  recrimination.     It  could  not  be  otherwise. 

24 


REVENGE   OF   THE   AUSTRALIAN 

The  Officer  of  Militia,  steeped  in  the  land-owning 
traditions  of  his  own  countryside,  was  quite  inca- 
pable of  discovering  the  least  ray  of  justice  or  reason 
in    the    Big   Australian's   argument;     and    the   Big 
Australian,  bred  in  company  with  the  amazing  new 
Australian  ideas  of  what  they  call  human  rights,  could 
descry  nothing  but  stupidity  and  greed  and  aristo- 
cratic outrage  in   the   nrgunimt   of    the   Officer  of 
Militia.     It  was  no  mere  dilTerence  of  opinion  as  be- 
tween hidividuals:  it  was  something  dccjjcr  and  far 
more  significant  than  that.     And  meantime  the  ship 
rolled  along  toward  the  Trades— and  the  music  flowed 
strumming  and  tinkling  with  the  soft  night  wind 
toward  the  stars— and  the  dancers  circled  close  to 
the    perspiring    disputants    and    dodged    alanned 
away— and   the  lights  glowed  green   and   red   and 
yellow— and    the   varicolored   bunting   fluttered   in 
the  breeze.     And  presently   the  Pierrot,   with   the 
Tramp  Captain  and  the  Beef  Eater,  edged  behind 
the  Big  Australian,  to  encourage  him,  and  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  with  the  Prei)ostcrous  Nurse  Maid  and  the 
Arabian  Sheik,  backed  up  the  Officer  of  Militia.    The 
Big  Australian   quivered   with   rage   until   his  curl 
trembl(>d   and    his   diamonds   flashed    fire   and    his 
spreading  skirts  nistled  their  indignation;    and  the 
Ofticer  of  Militia  came  near  bursting  his  red  coat 
with  exi)losivc  ])omj)osity. 

"You  equivocate,  sir!"  declared  the  Masf'x   of 
the  Fox  Hounds. 

^^  "Kciuivocate,  sir?"  cried  the  Lady  of  the  Ballet. 
"Do  you  mean  to  insinuate,  sir,  that  I  lie.?" 
"I  say  you  equivocate,  sir." 
"If  you  accuse  me  of  etiuivocation  again,  sir," 
roared  the  Lady  of  the  Ballet,  thrusting  his  powdered 

25 


. 


I 


:l 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

face,  his  rouged  cheeks,  lAs  penciled  eyebrows  close 
to  the  flushes  of  the  Master  of  the  Fox'  Hounds,  and 
shaking  his  bejeweled  fist  under  that  indignant 
sportsman's  very-  nose,  "I'll  knock  your  block  off!" 
And  the  Officer  of  Militia  chose  the  better  part  of 
valor — a  chilling  disdain. 


TO  THE    JARRAII    BUSH 


AA7E  left  the  ship  at  Freemantlc,  the  chief  port  of 
▼  ▼    Western  Austrah'a,  going  thence  twelve  miles 
tip  the  Swan  River,  in  a  little  boat,  like  a  ferry,  to 
Perth,  the  capital  of  tlie  state,  a  comfortable  city  of 
approximately    forty    thousand,    foimdcd    in    1S29 
It   was  January  weather— the  blazing  heat  of  an 
Australian   midsummer.     It   was    not    our   pur])ose 
to  Imger  at  Perth:    nor  in  that  busy,  pretty  city 
was  there  anything  to  engage  our  interest,  above 
the  bush  and  gold-fields  and  drylands  to  which  we 
were  bound.     It  was  like  a  Canadian  town  set  in  a 
Cahfomian   climate,   its  colloquial   speech   flavored 
with  Cockney:  a  busy  city,  given  agreeably  to  half- 
holiday    pleasures  — cricket    and     the    race-track 
Traveling  south,  by  rail,  next  day,  toward  the  heart 
of  the  jarrah  bush,  in  the  southwestern  comer  of  the 
contment,  we  fell  in,  at  a  uull  wayside  station,  with 
a  bnsk.  bnsthng,  tense  young  man  of  the  country- 
a  perfervid   young  fellow  whose   convictions  were 
mightily  assured  in  respect  to  the  rights  of  the  i)eo- 
ple  (said  he)  to  the  resources  of  their  own  domain 
Opposition  wilted  in  the  red  heat  of  his  convictions- 
they  flamed  like  a  consuming  fire.     Contradiction 
was  sucked  into  a  roaring  furnace  of  scornful  argu- 

27 


h- 


i 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 


mcnt,  vanished  forthwith  in  thin  smoke,  left  nothing 
behind  but  a  pitiful  residue  of  ashes,  upon  which 
the  young  man's  unhappy  opponent  was  left  at 
leisure  to  gaze  in  shamefaced  and  stupefied  wonder. 
Jarrah,  said  he,  was  at  once  a  disgraceful  and  ex- 
quisitely humorous  example  of  the  greed  of  private 
enterimse  and  the  astounding  futility  of  the  tradi- 
tional forms  of  administering  the  crow  i  lands  of 
the  colony.  In  this  he  was  no  mere  saucy  parti- 
san; he  was  a  furious  evangelist.  And  his  eyes 
blazed  with  zeal,  and  his  face  was  flushed  with  in- 
dignation, and  he  was  in  a  hot  sweat  of  energy  to 
Ijc  about  the  business  of  reform;  and  the  sharp  slap 
of  red  fist  into  calloused  palm,  with  which  he  pointed 
his  declarations,  disclosed  the  ruthless  quality  of  his 
will  to  tear  the  world  down  and  rebuild  it  in  a  flash 
according  to  the  very  newest  Australian  notions  of 
what  constitutes  an  efficient  and  agreeable  world 
to  live  in. 

Presently,  said  ht ,  the  state  would  be  cutting  jar- 
rah and  karri  on  its  own  account.  And  thank  God 
for  that!  It  was  preposterous  that  the  state  had 
not  long  ago  set  up  a  mill  in  the  jarrah  bush — pre- 
posterously conservative,  preposterously  indulgent, 
prci)osterously  wasteful,  preposterously  slavish  and 
cowardly  and  wicked.  What  was  the  state  for? 
Be  hanged  to  private  enterprise !  Were  we  living  in 
the  last  century?  Were  there  no  new  ideas  abroad? 
Had  the  people  not  awakened?  Private  enterprise, 
sir,  had  been  exposed.  Private  enterprise  had  ex- 
ported millions  of  pounds  sterling  worth  of  jarrah. 
Private  enterprise  had  smugly  pocketed  the  profits. 
And  whom  should  the  jarrah  forests  properly  en- 
rich?    Private  cnteq)rise?    Bosh!    Was  it  for  a  mo- 

28 


TO   THE   JARRAH    BUSH 

ment  to  be  maintained  that  the  people  had  enjoyed 
a  fair  share  of  all  this  wealth  ? 

"Royalties?"  I  ventured. 

"Royalties!"  he  seoffed.     "Ha,  ha!" 

My  suggestion  was  a  vanishing  puff  of  smoke.  A 
snort  of  laughter  had  consumed  the  substance  of  it 

"Wages?"  said  I. 

"Wages!"  he  roared. 

My  contention  was  ashes. 

"Please  God,"  the  young  zealot  declared,  gravely, 
"we'll  wii)e  private  enterprise  oft"  the  map  of  Western 
Austraha!" 

"But—"  I  began. 

"Man  alive,  there  isn't  any  But!  They're  intol- 
erable to  social  entcq:>risc — these  damned  hamper- 
ing Buts  and  Whys." 

"But—"  I  tried  again. 

"My  friend,"  said  the  young  man,  looking  me 
straight  in  the  eye  with  disconcerting  curiosity,  as 
though  I  belonged  to  an  antediluvian  generation, 
and  should  be  heartily  ashamed  to  cumber  the 
heritage  of  my  aspiring  descendants,  "what  we  de- 
mand out  here  in  Western  Australia  is  Progress," 

I  capitulated  to  his  suspicion. 

"Out  here  in  Western  Australia,"  he  went  on,  now 
putting  his  hand  on  my  shoulder  in  the  intimately 
benevolent  fashion  of  a  young  country  preacher,  "we 
are  engaged  in  a  social  experiment  that  will  astound 
the  world."  He  paused.  "Give  us  fifteen  years," 
said  he,  exalted,  like  a  prophet— "give  us  just  fifteen 
years,  my  friend,  and  we'll  show  this  generation 
how  good  a  place  this  little  old  world  can  be  made 
to  live  in."  Again  he  paused.  "My  friend,"  he  con- 
cluded, with  a  flash  of  the  eye  so  good  to  see  that  it 

29 


•  ,• 


( 


III 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

warmed  our  respect,  "it's  good  to  be  alive;  it's  good, 
good  to  be  alive,  m  these  days — away  out  here  in 
Western    Australia!     Australia,"    said   he,    "is   the 
place  where  the  big  battle  is." 
We  liked  his  breed. 


Now,  presently  after  that,  in  a  compartment  of 
the  train,  we  encountered  an  old  codger  with  an  Aus- 
tralian "bung"  (fly-bitten)  eye  and  a  marvelously 
surly  disposition  for  a  man  of  any  age  or  condition. 
He  was  hunched  in  a  comer,  scowling  and  morose 
and  .scornful,  .sucking  his  pipe  in  a  temper  which 
seemed  to  be  habitual,  and  biting  the  stem  as  though 
he  had  nothing  better  than  that  poor  thing  to  punish 
in  solace  of  his  mood — a  sour  old  dog  with  a  great 
bush  of  indignant  iron-gray  whiskers.     He  had  no 
prosix'rity;   he  was  seedy  and  gray  and  malcontent; 
and  as  it  turned  out  he  was  in  boiling  dis  atisfaction 
with  the  government— the  damned  meddling  gov- 
ernment, said  he.     Too  much  law  in  the  country, 
said  he;   and  they  were  making  new  laws  in  Perth, 
for  ever  making  more  laws— pages  of  law,  books  of 
law,    tons   of   law,    miles   and    miles    of    law!     It 
was  no  country  for  a  man  of  spirit.     It  was  a  law- 
ridden  countr>'.     There  was  no  free  play.     A  man 
couldn't  follow  his  fancy.     A  man  was  regulated: 
his    sitting   down    must    be    accomplished    accord- 
ing to  law;    his  rising  up  and  going  forth.     What 
hai->pened  to  a  man  of  .sjjirit— a  man  with  the  fire 
and  ingenuity  to  strike  out  for  himself  and  begin 
to  get  along  in   the  world?     Was  he  encouraged? 
Was    he    let    alone?     No.    sir!     The    government 
straightway  devised  a  law  to  deal  with  his  enter- 
prise.    It  was  meddle,  meddle,  meddle!    The  gov- 

3° 


TO   THE    JARRAFI    BUSH 

emmcnt  meddled  more  men  into  the  poorhousc  U^an 
it  helped  to  keep  out. 

"Do  you  reel  :)n,"  ^^  demanded,  "that  a  bloke 
can  own  a  cow  in  this  eouiilry?" 

We  reekoned  that  a  bloke  could. 

"Naw,"  said  he. 

"Suppose,"  we  projiosed,  "that  a  bloke  bought 
and  paid  for  a  cow?" 

"It  wouldn't  be  his  cow." 

"To  whom,"  we  inquired,  "would  that  cow  be- 
long?" 

"Gov'ment." 

"But—" 

"Taxes,"  he  elucidated. 

It  was  still  obscure. 

"If  I  buy  and  pay  for  a  cow,"  the  old  fellow  went 
on,  "I  have  a  right  to  think  that  that  cow  is  mine. 
And  she  ought  to  be  mine.  That's  argument.  You 
can't  dodge  it.  But  if  I  have  to  pay  a  license  to  the 
gov'ment  every  year  for  the  privilege  of  keeping 
that  cow,  she  isn't  mine  at  all.  Is  she  mine  when 
she's  two  years  old?  Is  she  mine  when  she's  ten 
years  old?  No,  sir;  she's  never  mine.  That  cow 
belongs  to  the  gov'ment.  I  only  rent  her.  I  couldn't 
pay  for  her  and  own  her  if  we  both  lived  to  be  a 
thousand  years  old.  I  could  milk  that  cow,  and 
sell  that  cow,  and  kill  that  cow;  but  that  cow  could 
never,  never  be  mine.  I'd  be  paying  for  that  cow 
to  the  day  of  her  death.  And  that's  why,"  he  added, 
cunningly,  "you  don't  catch  mc  owning  no  bloody 
cow  in  this  bloody  country!" 


i! 


VI 


TOWN   HALL   TO-NIGHT !" 

AA/HEREVER  there  is  desperately  rough  work  for 
"  V    timber  to  do,  wherever  there  is  a  vast  burden 
to  be  borne  with  dogged  patience,  wherever  strain 
presses  through  a  critical  moment  and  goes  past  to 
return  again,  wherever  the  insidious  onslaughts  of 
marine-borers  and  white  ants  are  to  be  resisted, 
wherever  the  sun  warps  and  water  rots,  wherevci 
skeptical  engineers  demand  surely  dependable  ser- 
vice in  sand,  and  swamp,  and  harbor  water,  through 
long  periods,  there  is  a  great  cr>-  for  Australian  jar- 
rah  and  karri.     Vast  and  raw  as  Australia  is— its 
wooded  ranges  wide-spread  and  new  to  the  ax,  its 
bush  rich  and  singular  with  sandalwood,  rosewood, 
red  bean,  blackbutt,  stringy-bark,  tulipwood,  satin 
box,  silky  oak,  tallowwood,  gum,  ironbark,  and  pine, 
it  is  with  the  arid  interior  wastes  to  account  for  a 
most  meagcriy  forested  land.     An  area  of  three  mil- 
lion miles;   a  forest  area  of  one  hundred  and  sixty 
thousand  miles.     Algeria  is  not  one-half  more  im- 
poverished in  proiwrtion.     In  the  rolling,  copiously 
watered  country  of  the  Australian  southwest,  how- 
ever, into  which  the  settlers  are  now  ix-netrating, 
felling  and  i)lowing  and  planting  as  they  advance,' 
the  forests  arc  abundant  with  karri  and  jarrah,  a 

3a 


i 


Ai  stralia's  \V(K)Ded  ranges  are  new  to  the  ax 


111 


Il  ' 


"TOWN    HALL    TO-NIGHT!' 


great  seacoast  patch  of  the  one,  a  wide,  rich  strip  of 
the  other.  And  these  are  timbers  of  consequence — 
sturdy,  shagg\%  gray-tninked  old  eucalypts,  blood- 
red  when  sawn,  heavier  than  water,  tough  in  the 
grain,  elastic  and  enduring. 

We  were  landed  deep  in  the  bush,  near  dusk,  from 
a  preposterously  diminutive  coach,  no  larger  than  a 
stage-coach  of  the  early  days,  appended  as  an  after- 
thought to  a  jaunty  little  logging-train,  which  had 
tooted  and  squeaked  and  rather  dreadfully  plunged 
all  this  way  as  if  on  an  hilarious  wager  to  go  as  fast 
as  it  bally  well  pleased,  clear  through  to  the  end  of 
the  road  without  once  jumping  the  rails  or  damaging 
more  than  the  composure  of  the  passengers — alight- 
ing with  three  others,  who  tumbled  out  of  third  class, 
much  to  our  suq^rise,  with  luggage  enough,  it  seemed 
to  the  eye,  to  make  a  tidy  fit  for  that  small  compart- 
ment of  its  own  shabby  bulk:  a  long  man  in  rusty 
black,  with  melancholy  eyes,  blue  checks,  and  a  bot- 
tle nose,  in  company  with  a  stout,  bleached  lady, 
peevishly  managing  a  scrawny  little  girl  with  limp, 
Haxen  hair,  a  s[)oiled  and  petulant  child.  We  could 
by  no  means  fathom  the  business  of  these  singular 
persons.  They  had  the  look  of  old-fashioned  stroll- 
ing players.  The  man  was  a  dank  and  grotesquely 
dignified  personage  of  the  old  school  of  strollers, 
as  our  fant'v  has  been  taught  to  i)iotiire  those 
characters,  and  the  child  was  pitifully  lean  and 
pallid.  A  lr(K)ji  of  fine  brown  children  followed 
them  off — all  the  while  bashfully  eying  the  piilhd 
little  giri. 

Here,  remote  from  all  towns  and  farms,  was  a 
community  of  jarrah  cottages,  weathered  gray,  hud- 

33 


,:, 


i 
\\\ 


n 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

died  in  a  deep  hollow  by  the  mill,  surrounded  by  a 
lusty  bush  v.'hich  persistently  encroached,  like  a 
rebellious  jungle,  for  ever  threatening  to  overrun 
and  repossess  the  clearing  on  the  sly,  and  must 
periodically  be  slashed  back  to  its  own  quarters.  It 
was  a  haphazard  arrangement  of  little  cottages, 
vine-clad  and  flowering,  with  winding  lanes  between, 
the  whole  inclosing  a  dry,  irregular  common,  which 
they  used  for  half -holiday  cricket,  some  such  pro- 
vision being  happily  essential  to  the  life  of  every 
community  in  Australia.  And  every  cozy  cottage 
of  them  all,  we  were  amused  to  observe,  was  fur- 
nished with  a  monstrous  wooden  chimney,  which 
had  either  been  afire,  being  charred  and  eaten 
through,  or  was  waiting  to  catch  afire,  to  gratify  a 
mischievous  ambition,  and  was  only  deterred  from 
doing  so  the  very  next  instant  by  the  presence  near 
by  of  a  long  ladder  and  a  bucket  of  water.  Having 
supped  with  satisfaction  at  the  boarding-house — a 
jirivate  parlor,  even  here,  to  be  sure,  in  the  English 
way,  for  guests  of  our  obvious  quality — we  walked 
out  into  the  moonlight  and  found  our  hands  gripped 
and  painfully  wrung  before  they  were  fairly  out  of 
our  pockets. 

The  author  of  this  hospitable  onslaught  was  a  rosy 
young  man  in  a  bowler  and  decent  tweed,  now  all 
out  of  breath  with  haste  and  lively  emotion. 

"Twas  your  name  that  drew  me  to  you,"  he 
gasped.  "Man,  man."  he  declared,  deeply  affected, 
"'tis  a  grand  Scotch  name!  What  part  are  you 
from?*" 

I  confessed  to  a  Canadian  origin. 

"Colonial  Scotch!"  said  the  young  dog,  disgusted. 
"Ah,  well,"  more  heartily,  "you  can't  help  it.     I'm 

34 


••TOWN    HALL    TO-NIGHT!" 

from    Dumfriesshire   myself.     Was    you   expecting 
me?" 

We  had  not  been  led  to  look  for  him. 

"I'm  thinking,"  said  he,  blankly,  "that  you've 
never  heard  of  me." 

"Well,  you  see — "  we  began. 

"Losh!    that's  strange,"  he  broke  in,  brooding. 

With  this  we  agreed. 

"Did  you  not  know  I  was  here?"  cried  he,  then, 
amazed.  "Did  nobody  tell  you?  Man,"  says  he, 
"that's  incredible!     Do  you  not  know  who  I  am?" 

"Ah  yes,"  said  I,  confidently;  "you're  the  min- 
ister." 

"Losh!  that's  stupid,"  says  he.  "Where's  my 
white  tie?    Man,  I'm  the  Scotch  schoolmaster!" 

We  could  wot  ease  his  pride;  nor  could  we  raise 
his  spirits,  which  had  fallen  heavily;  he  was  humil- 
iated and  homesick — wretchedly  humiliated.  Wc 
praised  his  temerity  in  venturing  so  far  from  home 
in  pursuit  of  a  future  of  consequence;  we  praised 
his  employment — his  prospects,  too;  and  with  every 
word  of  all  this  heartening  approbation,  seeming 
first  to  weigh  it  delicately,  to  discover  its  reason- 
ableness, as  a  serious  young  man  should  lest  he  be 
misled  by  flattery,  he  agreed  in  short  nods  of  the 
head,  as  though  he  had  long  ago  reached  these  in- 
spiring conclusions  for  himself,  and  was  not  to  be 
surprised  by  anything  of  the  sort.  But  he  was  nc 
comforted.  He  had  been  for  three  months  in  the 
colonies — and  was  not  yet  conspicuous !  Where  was 
his  energy  to  advance  himself  What  had  over- 
taken his  visions?  For  a  time  he  ran  on,  his  most 
inconsequential  sentences  wearing  an  air  of  des- 
perate importance,  in  praise  of  bush  life  and  the 

35 


k^ 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

Australian  opportunity — opportunity,  he  was  care- 
ful to  append,  with  emphasis,  for  young  men  of 
parts;  but  by  and  by,  his  mood  gone  dry  of  cheer- 
fulness, he  rose  abruptly  to  take  his  leave.  This  he 
accomplished  in  the  most  gloomy  fashion :  he  shook 
our  hands,  with  much  modified  warmth,  expressed 
his  delight  with  our  acquaintance,  with  an  elderly 
air  of  indulgence,  and  moved  solemnly  down  the 
path,  head  bent,  pausing  to  brood  at  the  gate,  how- 
ever, through  a  melodramatic  interval  which  kept 
us  expectantly  waiting. 

All  at  once  he  stiffened  and  flashed  about  on  us 
with  some  show  of  passion. 

"There's  many  a  Scotch  schoolmaster  risen  to 
fame  from  more  unlikely  places,"  said  he,  grimly. 
"You'll  hear  tell  of  me  yet." 

He  stalked  off. 


Upon  the  surprise  occasioned  by  the  Scotch  school- 
master's ecstatic  prophecy  came  the  loud,  tumultu- 
ous clang  of  a  bell.  It  was  no  grave  call  to  worship. 
No  fear!  It  was  a  wild  alarm — an  agitated,  urgent 
summons,  flung  far  and  wide  over  village  and  bush 
in  appeal  to  all  true  men.  There  was  warning  in 
it.  There  was  fright  in  it.  It  .split  the  still  night  in 
a  way  to  make  one's  heart  jump  and  ])ound.  It 
roused  to  action.  Fire! — it  could  mean  nothing  less. 
Making  what  haste  we  could  over  the  unfamiliar 
liaths  in  the  direction  of  the  frantic  clamor,  stum- 
bling rmd  i)anting,  we  came  breathless  to  the  church- 
yard by  the  moonlit  coniinon;  and  there — clinging 
like  a  monkey  to  the  toj)  of  a  tall  ])()le  (which  he  had 
.shinned)  -  we  found  a  very  small  boy  beating  the 
great  bell  with  the  clapiKT  by  means  of  a  short  rope. 

36 


TOWN    HALL    TO-NIGHT!" 


Such  was  his  energy,  so  precarious  was  his  situation, 
such  a  mighty  tumult  was  he  raising,  that  we  could 
not  ask  him  what  threatened;  but  we  were  almost 
immediately  enlightened  in  another  way:  a  second 
very  small  boy,  rin[;ing  a  hand-bell  with  all  his 
feverish  strength,  came  tumbling  across  the  common 
at  the  top  of  his  speed. 

"Show's  in  town!"  he  bawled  as  he  ran. 

"What  show?     Where?" 

"Melbourne  Comedy  Three!  Town  Hall  to- 
night!" 

And  show  there  was,  which  promised  beforehand, 
in  the  bold  type  of  the  handbills,  to  tickle  the  risi- 
bilities, to  draw  tears,  to  arouse  roars  of  laughter,  all 
without  in  the  least  degree  offending  the  most  deli- 
cate sensibilities — a  refined  comedy-concert,  in  short, 
perfonncd  behind  kerosene  footlights  by  the  melan- 
choly man  in  rusty  black  and  the  bleached  lady  and 
the  scrawny  little  girl  with  the  lim]),  flaxen  hair. 
But  the  long  man  in  black,  though  seeming  longer 
and  leaner  than  ever,  was  no  longer  melancholy,  nor 
was  he  in  black,  fresh  or  rusty;  and  the  little  girl 
was  no  longer  petulant,  nor  was  she  i)allid,  but  rosy 
and  smiling,  and  as  for  her  limp,  flaxen  hair,  it  was 
cunningly  become  a  tangle  of  dear,  roguish  curls. 
And  the  titters  and  tears  and  guffaws  came  from  an 
audience  sclf-'-espectingly  clad  in  its  best:  ladies  in 
pretty  white  gowns  and  gloves,  sun-browned  little 
girls  in  starched  dresses,  little  boys  in  tweed  and 
Eton  collars  (hands  washed  and  hair  plastered  flat). 
and  men  with  their  workaday  dungaree  exchanged 
for  respectable  Sabbath  habiliments-  -an  astonish- 
ingly agreeable  and  ])(>lite  and  happy  and  ])r()spcr- 
ous  company,  altogether  of  a  (juality  rare  to  see. 

37 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 


And  when  the  last  tear  was  dried,  when  the  last 
roar  of  laughter  had  subsided,  the  floor  was  cleared, 
as  by  a  whirlwind  kept  in  waiting,  and  there  was  a 
jolly,  decent  dance,  tripped  by  young  and  old,  all 
flushed  and  joyous,  to  the  good  music  of  an  aspiring 
village  orchestra. 


VII 


A    BILLY   OF   TEA 


BEFORE  dawn  of  the  next  day,  being  then  bound 
to  the  works,  twenty  miles  deeper  into  the 
bush,  our  teeth  chattering  more  wilfully  than  they 
had  ever  chattered  before,  we  were  crouched  aboard 
a  flat-car,  wretched  and  near  numb  with  cold,  yet 
moved  to  be  alert  in  a  shower  of  sparks  from  a  devil- 
may-care  little  locomotive,  which  ate  jarrah-wood 
for  breakfast  and  breathed  black  smoke  and  flaming 
cinders  in  fine  disregard  of  the  consequences  to  the 
dry  midsummer  bush  through  which  it  went  roaring. 
That  we  were  not  consumed  was  due  to  the  cunning 
with  which  we  sniff'ed  and  kept  watch,  and  the  agil- 
ity and  determination  with  which  we  extinguished 
one  another;  and  that  we  did  not  leave  the  rich 
forest  ablaze  in  a  hundred  likely  places  in  our  wake 
was  one  of  the  most  incredible  exiK^riences  of  our 
Australian  journey.  The  valleys  were  still  deep  with 
night  and  clammy  mist;  but  the  ridges,  high  and 
shagg>',  were  beginning  to  glow,  and  through  the 
gnarled  trees  which  crested  them  the  new  day 
dropped  shafts  of  gray  light  into  the  somber 
shadows  below— like  the  glor>'  of  heaven,  stream- 
ing into  the  dark  and  terrible  places  of  the  world, 
in  the  old  engravings  called  "The  Voyage  of  Life." 
4  39 


ri 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

An  outlandish  gray  shape  shot  through  a  patch 
of  Hght ;  and  lesser  gray  shapes,  leaping  from  shadow- 
to  shadow. 

"Kangaroo!'"  ^ 

"The  first  was  a  boomer— a  big  fellow.  You  II 
see  a  dozen  more"— which  turned  out  to  be  true. 

A  group   of   tents,  pitched  for  shade,  and  open 
stables,  mere  paddocks,  was  camp  enough  for  this 
benevolent  climate.     There  were  no  low  log  cabins 
banked  and  calked  against  cold  weather,  as  in  the 
American  woods;    and  the  camp  differed  more  con- 
spicuously still  in   this.  th:it  the  lumberjacks  kept 
their  wives  and  children  with  them,  a  school  being 
I)rovided  even  here  ior  the  brown  little  "scnibbcrs" 
bv  a  solicitous  government.     The  horses  were  mov- 
ing out  in  a  cloud  of  .sunlit  dust;    and  there  were 
clSdren  about,  in  easy  rags,  and  industrious  poul- 
try,  scratching  for  their  chicks,   and  a  cloud  and 
very   plague   of   house-ilies,   and   many   great,    lean 
kangaroo  dogs.     Ijcyond  all  this,  in  an  open,  ragged 
old  bush,   with   dust   and  harsh  grasses  underfoot, 
with  parrots  and  cockatoos  .scrcamir.g  ;nid  sijuawking 
in  the  branches,  and  flitting  brilliantly,  too,  through 
the  blue  sunlight,  the  sawyers  and  teamsters  were 
at  work,  felling,  hauling,  loading,  the  heavy  opera- 
tion proceeding,  now  that  the  morning  was  well  ad- 
vanced, in  a  heat  of  one  hundred  and  one  degrees  in 
the  shade,  yet  drawing  hardly  more  than  a  dew  of 
persjjiration    from    these   seasoned    laboriTs,    as   we 
whom  the  sun  was  bitterly  punishing  could  hardly 

credit. 

"Snakes  hereabouts?"  I  chanced  to  inquire. 
"Thaousands,"  said  the  sawyer. 

"Deadly?" 

40 


V. 


X 

H 


A    BILLY    OF   TEA 

"They  tell  mc,  and  I  believe  it,"  he  replied 
weighing  his  words,  "that  the  death-adder  and  tiger- 
snake  kill  in  half  an  hour.  I'm  told,"  he  drawled 
on,  in  harmony  with  the  droning  weather,  "that 
a  dog  won't  last  no  more  than  twenty  minutes.  The 
death-adder,  now,  he's  a  slow,  stupid  beast,  and 
won't  move  along.  The  tiger-snake  comes  at  you; 
but  the  death-adder,  he's  a  slow,  stupid  beast— lies 
still  and  bites  when  you  tread  on  him.  There's  the 
black  snake,  too,  and  the  brown  snake— they're 
deadly;  and  a  few  others,  like  the  tree  snakes,  and 
maybe  some  more." 

"Mortality  high?" 

"What  say?  (Jh!  Well,  I'll  tell  you,  if  you  go 
huntmg  for  snakes  you're  likely  to  be  kept  real 
busy;  but  if  you  mind  your  own  business,  and  give 
the  snakes  a  chance  to  mind  their  own  business,  and 
if  you  look  out  for  them  slow,  stupid  death-adders 
you're  likely  to  be  let  off.  I  heard  tell  of  a  kiddie 
bemg  bit  once.  He  put  his  hand  in  a  rabbit- 
hole." 

"Did  the  child  die?" 

"Ah,  well,  no;   he  took  an  anecdote." 

It  had  been  a  mild  abrasion:  for  these  snakes— 
the  black  snake  and  tiger-snake  and  death-adder  in 
particular— are  more  virulently  poisonous  than  the 
rattlesnake  or  cobra.  Yet  death  from  snake-bite 
is  by  no  means  common  in  Australia. 

To  this  pleasant,  drowsy  old  bush— with  its  dron- 
ing and  sunshine  and  deep  shade  of  jarrah  and  black- 
butt  and  she-oak,  its  swift,  flashing  color,  its  sleepy 
twitter  and  shrewish  screaming— a  host  of  fantastic 
grass-trees,  ever>'where  lurking,  gave  a  highly  hu- 

41 


■(I 


I* 

H 


1 


Ill 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

morous  aspect.     Blackboys,  they  were  colloquially 
called;    and  truly  they  were  comical  fellows,  dis- 
tinguishing the  Australian  bush  with  the  astonished 
laughter  they  could  not  fail  to  stimulate.     They 
were  thick  as  a  tnan,  tidl  as  a  boy  or  a  man,  naked 
as  a  cannibal,  all  growing  in  the  infinitely  diverse 
attitudes  of  men;   and  from  the  heads  of  the  bare, 
black  trunks,  completing  and  pointing  the  remark- 
able resemblance,  sprang  thick  tufts  of  grass,  like 
the  wild  hair  of  savages,  from  which  a  long  spike 
protruded  in  precise  suggestion  t)f  a  half-concealed 
si)car.     It   seemed,    too,    that   every   shock-headed 
blackboy  of  the  bush,  in  a  paralysis  of  rage,  suspi- 
cion, or  amazement,  was  staring  at  us  who  traversed 
it:  dwarf  1)lackboys,  absurdly  corjmlcnt  blackboys, 
lean  blackboys,  giant  blackboys,  decrepit  blackboys, 
blackboys  pompous  and  timid  and  pious;    toddlers, 
and  saucy  youngsters,  and  terrible  warriors:    ]K'er- 
ing  with  hostile  intent,  hiding  behind  trees,  doubled 
up  in  some  agony  of  horror,  stooping  to  cscai)e  ob- 
servation,  heads  thrown  back   in  arrested  convul- 
sions of  mcrriment--a  human  variety  of  emotion 
and  lx>havior  in  the  emergency  of  our  invasion  of 
their  secluded  country. 

"There,"  the  Artist  declared,  jwinting  in  horror, 
"are  two  disgracefully  drunken  blacklM)ys!" 

It  was  sadly  tnic:  those  shameless  blackboys  had 
their  long-haired  heads  close  together,  in  the  manner 
of  young  college  men  nuisically  celebrating  a  victory 
in  the  privacy  of  some  great  city;  and  all  their 
joints  were  loose,  and  their  hair  was  fallen  over 
their  eves,  and  their  legs  were  conspicuously  weak, 
and  they  were  all  tix)  plainly  deriving  much-needed 
support  the  one  from  the  other. 

43 


A    BILLY   OF   TEA 

At  noon  wc  rested  and  refreshed  ourselves  from 
a  billy  of  tea  with  the  crew  in  the  shade  of  a  great 
blackbutt  by  the  landing.     They  were  British  or 
Australian  bom,  every  jack  of  them;   there  was  not 
an  Italian  in  the  company,  not  even  a  Swede.    The 
Australian   immigration   is  British — the  Austra]i;m 
population  ninety-six  per  cent.  British  or  Australian 
bom,  or  of  one  descent  or  the  other.     Though  the 
peasant  of  southem  Euroiie  is  warmly  encouraged 
to  adventure  upon  the  land,  he  is  regarded  with 
that  wary  suspicion  which  attaches  to  dark  strangers 
and  is  by  n(^  means  indulged  in  the  questionable 
I)raclicos  of  his  own  land.     "We'll  teach  you,"  said 
the    Perth    magistrate,    passing   merciless   sentence 
upon  an  Italian  who  had  lightly  employed  a  stiletto 
in  some  small  altercation  with  a  countr>'man,  "that 
you're  in  our  country  now!"     These  m<«n  with  whom 
we  rcsted  were  like  Inmberjacks  the  world  over — 
physically  fine,  heart,     cllows,  but  hard  rogues  and 
wastrels.     Their  diversion  was  a  furious  debauch, 
from  which,  having  "knocked  aown"  their  checks 
in  the  first  public-house,  they  crawled  back  to  long 
jieriods  of  healthful  lalxir. 

It  being  now  shortly  after  Christmas,  the  talk  had 
something  to  do  with  the  long  Christmas  absence. 

"Pined  me  a  p<^'>"<l  '"  jarrahdale,"  said  Scotty. 

"A  pound  for  bein*  drunk!"  cried  the  hook-man. 
indignantly. 

"Ah,  well."  said  Scotty,  in  honorable  defense  of 
the  magistrate.  "I    w;is  usin'   profane   langwitch." 

"I)(Kl-blime  me!"  the  h(M)k-man  protested,  "tiny 
only  charge  ten  liob  for  that  in  Perth!" 

"Ah.    well."   said   Sajtty,    "I    got   my   money's 
worth!" 

43 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 


In  these  simple  surroundings  Scotty  kept  us  all 
laughing;  he  was  the  wit, and  himself  laughed  harder 
than  any.  Once,  said  he,  a  new  chum  came  to  the 
jarrah  bush.  A  new  chum  is  a  tenderfoot,  specifi- 
cally an  English  tenderfoot;  he  is,  of  course,  the  butt 
of  every  bush  and  mining  camp  in  Australia.  And 
this  new  chum,  disgnmtlcd  and  blistered  and  home- 
sick, fancied,  said  Scotty,  that  it  would  be  more 
agreeable  to  pick  up  a  fortune  in  Perth  than  to  hew 
it  from  the  bush.  Forthwith  he  rolled  his  swag  and 
prepared  to  return.  It  was  not  far  to  the  railroad; 
a  half-mile  of  hilly  countrj'—  perhaps  a  bush  mile. 
But  in  very  natural  alarm  of  being  bushed  the  new 
chum  sought  out  Scotty  for  prcci.se  directions.  Pre- 
cise directions  Scotty  cheerfully  afforded,  cross- 
country directions,  more  than  ample  for  any  bush- 
man,  but  not  at  all  to  the  liking  of  the  new  chum, 
whom  the  bush  never  failed  to  lx>wilder.  Casting 
about  for  an  unmistakable  landmark — a  landmark 
so  ])laced  and  obvious  that  even  a  new  chum  could 
not  fail  to  recognize  and  remember  it — Scotty's  eye 
fell  by  happy  chance  on  a  cow,  placidly  chewing  her 
cud  on  the  crest  of  a  ridge  in  the  right  direction. 

"See  that  cow?"  says  Sc-otty. 

"I  do,"  says  the  new  chum,  iK)sitively. 

"Go  to  that  cow,"  says  Scotty.  "When  you 
come  to  that  cow,  turn  to  the  right.  You  can't  miss 
the  road;  it's  within  fifty  yards  of  that  cow." 

"I  go  to  the  cow,"  the  new  chum  n'lX'ated,  pro- 
viding against  the  chance  of  error,  "and  turn  to 
the  right?" 

"Kight-o!"  says  Sc»)tty.     "CkkkI  luck!" 

That  night  Scotty  was  astounded  to  find  the  new 
chum  oncx'  more  in  the  jarnih  camp. 

44 


A    BILLY   OF   TEA 

"Why,  what's  up  with  you?"  says  he. 

"Bad  directions." 

"Did  you  s<^  to  the  cow  and  turn  to  the  right?" 

"I  couldn't  catch  up  with  the  cow!" 


Kangaroo  arc  hereabouts  hunted  for  sport — for 
the  hide,  too,  and  for  the  somewhat  unsavory  deh- 
cacy  of  the  tail,  boiled  in  a  pot  to  make  soup  and  a 
jelly.  It  is  not  an  heroic  s]Kirt.  It  is  exhilarating, 
])erhai)s— a  gallop  through  tb  bush,  taking  the  wind- 
falls in  full  career,  on  the  lu-ci  of  a  pack  of  kangaroo 
dogs,  swift  as  greyhounds,  ]>  verful  and  ferocious 
as  bloodhounds;  and  the  kill  -the  (luarry  being 
a  "boomer,"  a  savage  and  desperate  "old-man" 
kangaroo-  ])roviiles  the  dogs  v>ith  some  entertain- 
ing moments.  A  kangaroo  takes  instinctively  to 
water,  where,  at  bay  in  dei)th  enough,  he  drowns  a 
dog  in  short  order.  At  bay  in  the  bush,  upright  on 
one  hind-leg  and  the  thick  curve  of  his  tail,  his  back 
against  a  tree,  he  is  at  a  disadvantage.  But  he  is 
not  defenseless.  The  long  hoof  of  his  free  hind-leg 
is  his  wea])on;  and  with  this— having  by  good  for- 
tune tni,ipcil  an  unwary  antagonist  to  his  breast 
with  his  shan>-t'l:iwc(l  fore-legs — he  deals  a  terrible 
fashion  of  death.  In  flight,  however,  a  kanganx)  is 
easy  i>rey:  a  knowing  dog  catches  him  by  the  tail, 
overlums  him  with  a  cunning  wrench,  and  takes 
his  throat  from  a  saft>  angle  before  he  can  recover. 

Notwithstanding  the  kangaroo's  ijojuilar  reimta- 
tion  for  speed,  h'"  is  easily  overtaken  in  the  bush  by 
a  g(K)d  horse  (they  say)  within  half  a  mile.  A  ea- 
])able  kangaroo  dog  a  It  an,  swift  beast,  a  cross  be- 
tween a  greyhotnid  an<l  a  m.astilT,  bred  to  course  and 
kill — soon  runs  him  to  bay.     Without  dogs  it  is  the 

4S 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

custom  to  ki'l  with  a  cudgel.  This  is  often  accom- 
plished by  the  sportsman  from  the  back  of  his  horse. 
Dismounted,  however,  with  the  kangaroo  waiting 
alertly  for  attack,  it  is  sometimes  a  perilous  venture 
to  come  lo  close  quarters.  A  slij) — and  the  sports- 
man finds  himself  nil  at  once  in  a  desperate  situation. 
One  of  the  lumberjacks  with  whom  we  r(>stod  in  the 
shade  of  the  blackbult  showed  us  the  scars  of  an 
encounter.  lie  had  ridden  Ine  kangaroo  down,  said 
he;  and,  being  in  haste  to  make  an  end  of  the  sport, 
he  had  caught  up  the  first  likely  stick  his  eye  could 
discover,  and  he  had  stepj)ed  cjuickly  and  confidently 
in,  and  he  had  stnu-k  hard  and  accurately.  And  the 
next  instant,  caught  o(T  the  gnnmd.  he  was  stniggling 
breast  to  breast,  in  the  hug  of  the  creature,  fright- 
fitlly  aware  that  he  must  <>scape  before  the  deadly 
hind-foot  had  devastated  Iii'n. 

"My  club  broke,"  he  explained,  "and  the  boomer 
got  nic." 

There  were  long  scars  on  his  back  and  shoulders, 
♦  he  which  wc  were  not  very  sorr\-  to  u\\  for  we 
could  not  make  out  why  any  man  should  wish  to 
kill  a  kangaroo  for  sport. 


'U 


VIII 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  Ol'  DAN  DOUGHERTY 

OF  all  the  broken  pentlemcn  that  ever  I  met  in 
my  travels,  of  all  the  scamps  and  queer  fish 
and  gray  reprobates.  Dan  Douj:;herty  of  the  jarrah 
bush  was  the  most  bewilderinj^  and  most  poignantly 
appealing.  He  was  a  stableman,  a  stocky,  grim, 
gray  old  fellow,  clad  like  any  bushman,  in  dungaree 
and  wool — an  old  fellow  of  eccentric  habit,  which 
sprang,  after  all,  for  all  I  know,  rather  from  a  high 
and  reasonable  determination  than  a  churlish  dis- 
position or  any  departure  from  good  health.  Whether 
Dan  Dougherty  was  rake  or  hero,  rogue  or  gentle- 
man, no  man  could  tell.  He  had  no  intimates;  he 
would  not  so  much  as  give  a  mate  a  nod  or  good- 
day,  but  li\'ed  the  years  through  in  a  silence  of  his 
own  making,  a  recluse  in  his  bachelor  tent  by  a  she- 
oak  near  the  stables.  He  had  never  battlc<l,  they 
said,  for  indulgence.  Yet  his  humor  was  not  mo- 
lested: for  old  Dan  Dougherty  had  a  clear,  sui)erior 
eye;  and  so  well  could  he  manage  his  glance,  which 
Ktnick.  glittering  cold  and  sharp  as  a  blade,  from 
behind  brows  so  shaggy  that  he  must  clij)  them,  and 
so  straight  and  haughty  was  he,  and  so  still  and  tense 
with  menace,  that  the  bullies  and  wits  of  the  bush 
had  never  challenged  his  i>ower  to  damage  them. 

47 


(  , 


I  1 

m 


I 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

And  there  was  more — an  uncanny  thing;  and  by 
this  Dan  Dougliorty's  bushniates  were  thrilled  to 
the  marrow  while  they  lay  listening  and  peering  and 
shivering  in  the  darkness  by  Dan  Dougherty's  tent. 
Upon  occasion  Dan  Dougherty  would  sweep  his 
quarters  and  put  his  dooryard  in  order;  and  having 
disposed  of  the  horses,  which  came  in  from  the  bush, 
limp  with  labor,  in  a  cloud  of  yellow  dust,  he  would 
cleanse  and  comb  himself  and  dress  uj)  in  his  best, 
taking  vast  pains  to  accomplish  a  gfKxl  appearance, 
as  if  in  solicitous  ex])ectation  of  company.  But  no 
visitor  hail  ever  come— no  visitor  at  all — no  visitor 
in  the  flesh.  Vet  upon  cver>'  occasion  Dan  Dough- 
erty would  clear  his  table,  set  out  a  candle,  a  bottle 
and  two  glasses,  and  i)lace  two  chairs;  and,  having 
survi-yed  his  (|uartcrs  in  .search  of  some  di.sorder 
(which  he  never  could  find),  he  would  sit  himself 
down  to  brood  av.ay  the  interval  of  waiting  for  his 
strange  guest.  But  not  for  long.  Presently  he 
woukl  start,  iis  if  there  had  come  a  knock;  and  he 
would  listen,  jumj)  to  his  feet,  sun",  now,  that  there 
had  come  a  knock  indeed,  and  make  haste  to  throw 
back  the  flap  ruid  j)eer  out  in  welcome.  There  was 
never  anybody  to  welcome — never  a  soul  in  the 
darkness. 

Yet  Dan  Dougherty  would  behave  precisely  as 
though  an  old  friend  had  dropi)ed  in  for  a  go.ssij). 

"(if)od  evenin'.  Mister  Dougherty!" 

"Ciood  evenin',  Dan!" 

"I  hope  I  sec  you  well,  Mister  Dougherty!" 

"Vou  do  that,  Dan.     Bless  (lod,  I'm  prime!" 

This  hearty  dialogue  was  all  the  doing  of  Dan 
Dougherty.  In  tlu'  ])crson  of  Mister  Dougherty  (the 
visitor)  his  voice  was  njuiided  and  agreeably  haughty 

48 


m 


ROMANCE    OF    DAN    DOUGHERTY 

—a  touch  of  condescension;  and  in  the  jxrson  of  old 
Dan  Dougherty  it  was  decently  humble,  in  the  way 
of  a  self-respecting  inferior  addressing  a  natural  and 
kindly  superior. 

"Will  you  come  in,  Mister  Dougherty?" 

"I  will,  Dan;  I  will  that.  You're  good  company, 
Dan,  my  boy." 

"Tnie  for  you.  Mister  Dougherty.  I'm  damned 
good  company." 

"You  always  was,  Dan." 

"Ah,  well,  Mister  Dougherty,  I've  had  all  these 
years  in  the  bush  to  make  .sure  of  it." 

Then  i:)roceeding  to  the  table,  Dan  Dougherty 
would  with  a  pretty  .show  of  hosi)itality  draw  the 
chair  for  his  ghostly  visitor  and  himself  be  seated 
opposite. 

"Will  you  have  a  glass  of  stout.  Mister  Dough- 
erty?" 

"I  will,  Dan  -  and  thank  you." 

Very  gravely  Dan  Doughertj-  would  i)our  the  two 
glasses  full. 

"Your  health.  Mister  Dougherty!" 

"Your  health.  Dan!" 

Whereu]xin  Dan  Dougherty  would  drink  off  both 
glas.ses  and  resume  the  conversation.  It  seemed 
always  to  be  an  imjx'rsonal  exchange.  The  listen- 
ers learned  nothing.  Mister  Dougherty  talked  with 
dignity  and  reserve.  Dan  Dougherty  matchetl  him 
in  both.  They  aj^peared  to  be  a  com{)anionable 
jiair;  there  was  no  (|uarrel  recordefl;  but  there  was 
this  myster>'  about  it :  that  they  talked  as  two  friend- 
ly sfuils  might  talk  who  were  l)oth  sadly  aware  of  the 
disgrace  of  the  one,  but  detennined  to  preserve  an 
ancient  friendship  at  any  cost — i-onfining  themselves 

4y 


ll'l 


M 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

to  innocent  topics  and  taking  such  poor  solace  as 
thoy  could  in  mere  proximity.  ' '  Your  health,  Mister 
Dougherty!"  "Your  health.  Dan!"  But  the  pro- 
ceeding was  usually  temixirate  enough.  It  might  be 
that  a  second  bottle  was  fj^x-ned.  It  might  be  that 
even  a  third  cork  would  pop.  And  it  might  be — the 
occasions  being  rare — that  in  quaflfing  for  both  Dan 
Dougherty  would  drink  too  much  for  his  com- 
posure. At  such  times  he  would  fall  into  a  state 
of  abject  melancholy,  his  arms  straight  out  on  the 
table,  his  face  buried  between  them,  but  not  before 
there  had  been  a  last  mysterious  exchange  between 
the  wraith  and  himself,  taking  invariably  the  one 
form. 

"And  have  you  had  letters  from  home,  Dan?" 

"I  have  not.  Mister  Dougherty." 

"Ah,  well,  Dan,  yfm'll  be  takin'  a  run  over  to  the 
old  country  soon,  no  doubt?" 

"I'm  never  goin*  home  at  all.  Mister  Dougherty, 
God  help  me!  The  old  country's  \.ell  rid  of  me  and 
the  bush  is  no  worse  of  my  company!" 


It  was  late  when  we  were  landed  once  more  in  the 
little  hollow  by  the  mill.  There  was  an  amazing 
sunset.  For  a  space  we  stood  stock-still  and  as- 
tounded. Dusk  was  near  come.  In  the  deeiX-T 
I)laces  of  the  hollow  it  was  already  dark.  The  jxt- 
pelual  fires  of  red  jarrah  waste  smoldered  there,  a 
living  scarlet,  and  burst,  intermittently,  into  ver- 
milion flame,  by  which  the  slow,  thick  smoke  was 
changed  to  rolling  crimson  clouds.  And  high  past 
the  deep  color  of  these  hres— beyond  the  black  shad- 
ows-glowed the  weird  sunset  light.  Once  on  the 
north  Atlantic  coast  a  change  of  the  wind  suddenly 

.so 


ROMANCE   OF    DAN    DOUGHERTY 

interposed  a  cloud  of  fog  between  our  small  craft 
and  the  flaring  western  sky;  and  every  drop  of  this 
thin  mist,  catching  its  measure  of  crimson  color, 
shone  like  the  dust  of  rubies;  so  that  with  red  hands 
we  sailed  a  red  craft  in  a  world  of  red  cloud  and 
water.  But  here  was  a  green  sunset:  a  flat,  green 
sk-y,  all  aglow— the  light  of  emerald  fires  beyond  the 
shaggy  black  trees  on  the  crest  of  the  hill;  and  our 
world  Wc')s  a  world  of  shadows  and  red  fires  and  the 
failing  glow  of  green. 


'•'III 


I'M 


'}.^ 


i 


I 


'I'll 

i 


IX 


COOLGARDIK    I-ORSAKEN 


COME  all  too  optimistic  Australians  from  Sydney 
<^  Side,  who  liuve  never  traveled  the  bitter  gold- 
fields  country  of  Western  Australia,  say  of  all  the 
farther  reaches  of  that  vast  waste— declare,  indeed, 
with  a  smack  of  the  lips,  an  ingenuous  design  to  as- 
tound: "D'ye  know,  they  tell  mc  that  the  old  ex- 
plorers were  mistaken?— that  the  country  out  there 
is  first-class  pastoral  land?"  The  old  explorers  had 
reported  deserts  to  lie  thereabouts.  They  had 
thirsted,  they  had  hungeretl,  they  had  gasped  a 
course  of  many  perilous  months,  reaching  at  last 
an  emaciated,  leathery,  half-mad  return.  Sydney 
Side  Australians  of  the  unknowing  and  sanguine  tyjx; 
have  no  more  definite  knowledge  of  the  aspects  of 
their  own  far  west  than  the  Kuropc-going  New- 
Englander  w  lio  has  never  been  west  of  Niagara  Falls 
knows  of  the  intimacies  of  existence  and  landscape 
in  uttemiost  Arizona.  The  low  comedian  of  Her 
Majesty's  Theater  at  Melbourne,  lugubriously  de- 
scribing his  own  inheritance,  hit  the  nail  on  the  head 
and  almost  drove  it  home.  Said  he:  "Some  of  it's 
arable— most  of  it's  'orrible!"  He  missed  the  truth 
by  this  much:  that  none  of  it  appears  to  the  tran- 
sient observer  at  this  i)resent  tu  be  highly  arable. 


COOLGARDIE    FORSAKEN 


Generally  speaking,  the  gold-field  .  country,  of  which 
the  Golden  Mile  is  the  source  of  life,  is  in  summer 
a  red  desert  i)lace,  week  after  week  blistering  under 
brazen  sun,  swept  by  whirling  dust-winds,  hot  some- 
times to  the  degree  of  more  than  one  hundred  and 
twenty  in  the  shade,  so  dr>-  that  the  water  for  its 
sufficient  refreshment  must  be  pumped  three  hun- 
dred and  fifty  miles  from  the  great  weir  at  Mun- 
daring:  yet  to  the  edge  of  the  s  It  lakes  it  is  vividly 
green,  in  stretches,  with  an  oi)en  growth  of  salmon- 
gum  and  needle-wo<^d  and  gimlet  trees  and  broom- 
bush — a  mirage  of  fertility,  lying  in  the  distance, 
but  disclosing,  every  step  of  the  way,  its  false  and 
arid  character.  They  st "  the  land  flourishes  after 
rain;  and  no  doubt  the  grasses  do  spring  green  and 
succulent,  since  it  seems  no  length  of  dnjught  can 
kill  them  utterly  in  Australia — but  the  rains  are  shy 
and  niggardly. 

A  chance  remark  in  pas>ing  to  a  desiccated  native 
with  agricultural  aspirations: 

"Dry  country  you  got  here." 

"Ah,  well,"  he  explained,  "you  see,  this  is  an 
exceptionally  dry  season." 

"How  long  is  it,"  the  curious  traveler  inquired, 
looking  around  ab»jut  upon  the  scorched  world, 
"since  you  had  anything  /•///  an  exceptionally  dry 
season?" 

"Ah,  well — about  sixteen  year!" 


m 


Having  returned  from  the  jarrah  bush  to  Perth, 
we  set  out,  iiresently,  for  the  gold-fields  c(nmtr>', 
which  lies  a  night's  journey  to  the  east.  Late  in  the 
afternoon  of  a  hot,  dry  day— the  thennomcter  de- 
claring a  temix'rature  of  one  hundred  and  ten  in  the 

53 


iH 


:v 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

shade  at  sca-lcvcl,  as  though  it  were  quite  used  to 
the  feat— the  Gold-fields  Express  screeched  out  of 
the  station,  rattled  importantly  through  the  yards, 
and  puffed  off  and  away  from  the  bustle  and  broiling 
asphalt  streets  of  Perth  on  the  four-hundred-mile 
run  northeast  to  Coolgardie  and  Kalgoorlie.     It  was 
a  slovenly  little  train— a  diminutive  English  con- 
traption, gone  shabby  with  hard  service,  filled  to 
the  doors  with  a  free-and-easy  western  company,  in 
khaki  and  leather,  in  tweeds,  in  black  coats,  in  wool- 
en shirts  and  broad-brimmed  felt  hats— a  company 
tanned  and  hairy  and  adorned  with  diamonds  and 
virgin  nuggets.     Presently,  in  the  light  of  a  great 
red  sunset,  it  was  swaying  recklessly  through  raw, 
rolling  eucalyptus  country,  which  the  ])ioneers  were 
stripping  to  expose  the  fertile  soil,  and  on  into  the 
dark  of  a  murky  night.    A  thirsty  journey,  for  the 
relief  of  which  water  was  provided  in  the  Australian 
way — long   canvas   sacks   of   water,    with   wooden 
spigots,  suspended  on  the  platforms,  dripping  from 
cvory  pore  to  cool  the  contents  by  evaix)ration.     It 
was  dcsi)crately  hot  weather,  and  by  this  time  in- 
credibly dry.     A  hot  wind,  blowing  from  the  central 
deserts,  rioting  in  at  the  opc»^  windows,  came  with 
clouds  of  gritty  dust,  which  it  deposited  in  inch- 
deep  drifts  in  the  corridors  and  shabby  compart- 
ments.    In  this  parching  heat  and  dust,  when  the 
night  had  fallen  deep,  men  wandered  about  in  pa- 
jamas, women  in  desperate  dishabille,  wliimpering 
children  in  their  scanty  night-clothes;    and  in  the 
little  dining-car,  where  they  sat  late  over  cards  and 
drink— jammed    with    prospectors,    miners,    immi- 
grants,   engineers,    commercial   travelers,   and   the 
worn-out  women  and  children  of  the  drylands  be- 

54 


'f'^^'W^M 


'^'0*ni 


fii 


i.t 


1i 


![1 


'it 


I 


MIMIC    -.Hi    (iiT    WITH    WHEKLHARROWS — A    HLNURILD    MILES    TO    <  (lOLi.ARDIE 


COOLGARDIE    FORSAKEN 

yond — the  bar  was  rushed  by  a  clamoring  crowd  from 
the  coaches  in  the  rear. 

"She  hunii)S  along,"  an  old  prospector  remarked, 
in  hearty  satisfaction  with  his  state's  achievement 
in  the  matter  of  long-distance  railroad  travel.  "Not 
too  bad,  eh?" 

1  laughed  a  little. 

"Ah.  well,"  said  he,  laughing,  t(x>;  "you're  a 
bit  unfair,  aren't  you?  We've  altogether  differ- 
ent standards.  You're  thinking  of  transcontinental 
liniiteds  and  a  hundrcil  million  iK-ople;  atid  I'm 
thinking  of  the  early  days  in  a  ('i<Ml-forsakcn  gold 
countr>' — 'way  back  in  'ninety-two,  when  Bagley 
nnle  into  Southern  Cross  from  the  desert  at  C(h)1- 
gardie,  like  a  madman,  with  two  th(ni.sand  inmnds 
in  nuggets  aticl  dust.  ])icked  uj)  in  two  days."  And 
having  diseril>e<l  the  fust  fever  and  stami)ede  of 
those  wild  times,  he  went  on,  seeming  to  reeall  it 
all  as  a  man  reuKinhcrs  the  amazing  ineicknts  of  a 
village  fire:  "  In  two  hours  horses  went  from  a  couple 
of  jMJunds  a  head  to  fifty  poimds  a  head.  Camels? 
j'ou  couldn't  buy  'em  at  all.  Dogs,  eows-  anything 
that  could  haul;  bicycles— anything  a  man  coukl 
ride;  buggies  and  butehers'  carts — anything  on 
wheels:  in  a  day  or  two  Southern  Cross  was  cleaned 
out.  Hi-fore  1  managi'd  to  get  away  I  saw  a  husky 
young  chap  take  the  Coolgardie  trail  with  his  outfit 
packed  in  his  little  lM)y's  c.xprcss-cart .  I  saw  a 
tlozcn  fellows  set  out  with  wheelbarrows.  I  siiw  an 
old  bloke  push  olT  with  a  baby-carriage.  I  aiWK  some 
liiaps  get  away  with  l)arrels— a  sort  of  axle  through 
the  cvntcr,  *hv  man  l)et\v<.vn  the  shafts,  the  outfit 
stowed  away  .somehow  inside.  It  was  sotnething  like 
one  hundred  and  iwcniy-fivc  miles  from  Suuihem 
i  SS 


^'4 


'* 


m 


u 


}W 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

Cross  to  the  oltl  C'><>lgardic  field,  I  reckon — sand  and 
senib  and  stony  j^roimd,  dry  country;  and  at  first 
nobody  knew  the  water-soaks.  We  footed  every 
mile  of  it  in  the  early  days  with  our  tongues  swollen 
and  our  lij^s  hlaek — in  a  week,  two  weeks,  three 
weeks.  Thirst?  My  word!  And  that's  why  it 
occurred  to  me  that  this  little  Gold-fields  Express 
was  humpin'  along." 

"Of  course,  now — " 

"Oh,  »t>7i',"  tlie  i)rosi)ector  interrupted,  contemp- 
tuously, "all  a  man  has  to  do  is  to  u'tiAv  up  in  Cool- 
gardie." 

"And-" 

"Water?  Win',  young  fellow,"  he  swore,  his 
eyes  twinkling,  "they  tiv/.s/t-  it  I  'J'luy  hdllw  in  it  a 
shilling  a  go  at  Kalgoorliel" 

We  swayed  along  bumping,  jirking.  sfjueaking, 
rattling.  It  seeme<l  the  c.'ipable  and  aml)itious  little 
train  would  jutiij)  the  tnnk  in  a  di'vott'd  endiav(»r 
toaccomplish  its  distance  in  tlu-  time  allotted.  These 
were  exhausting  lunirs:  the  hot  wind,  the  clatter 
of  our  progress,  the  dust,  the  close  eonta'l  with  all 
tho.se  al)atidoni«l  otlurs  in  the  same  misfortune. 
Occasionally  we  stoitped  at  sonu'  woclK'gone  way- 
side j)laci';  ;ind  t'lcse  pauses  were  m>  ample  in  the 
measure  of  them,  and  so  gnitiful  in  opjKirtunity, 
that  the  horde  of  ]i;isscngers  alightid,  in  whats<H'ver 
sort  of  night  attire  ihcy  afTccted,  if  that  chanied  to 
Ih'  their  condition,  to  t.ikc  the  air  on  the  jilatform 
until  a  hand-bdl  dangeil  and  the  gu'ird  shouted, 
"Seats,  if  you  please,  gentlemen!"  aid  a  whistle 
shrilled  like  a  bo;it swain's  pipe,  .-nid  tit,'  lotomotive 
sliriikcd  a  last  warning  to  If  .ilMi.ird  ;  t  once  or  be 
left  to  make  the  Ixst  of  that  gloom  and  dcbolution 

SO 


COOLGARDIE    FORSAKEN 

for  the  night.  It  was  a  task  to  go  the  length  of  the 
tumultuous  little  train — to  avoid  treading  on  the 
fevered  children,  to  escape  surprising  the  women  in 
the  relaxation  of  undress,  to  keep  from  being  shot 
from  one  side  of  the  corridor  to  the  other,  and 
eventually  into  the  con>ulcncy  of  some  pajama-clad 
gentleman  returning  from  the  flowing  bar  with  a 
bottle  of  beer  in  each  hand.  And  thereafter  there 
was  a  long,  black  night,  sjkmU  in  a  stonn  of  dust  and 
cinders — and  then  the  immensity  of  the  dawn,  so 
red  and  bold  that  the  window  was  a  lurid  square, 
solid  wi*h  color,  with  the  whole  outdoor  world  a 
thick,  awesome  glow  of  brightening  glory-  and  then 
the  yellow  blaze  of  the  gold-fields  waste  of  green 
scnib  and  red  ear'h — and  at  last  the  wide,  vacant 
streets  of  Kalgoorlie,  prostrate  and  blind  and  ghastly 
white  in  the  dreadful  mid-morning  sunlight. 


Ballarat  and  Bendigo — all  the  cvlclirated  fields  of 
Victoria  and  New  South  Wales— saw  their  scH?thing 
f)ros]K*rity  in  the  failing  years  of  the  California 
scramble  and  tunnih.  Their  fortunes  and  crimes, 
their  bushrangers  and  gentlemen-diggers  and  ticket- 
of-leave  men,  had  1)cconie  the  texture  of  old  men's 
tales  before,  in  the  unexplored  tropica!  north  of 
West  Australia,  six  thousatid  miles  away  as  the  crow 
Hies,  the  first  discovery  of  gold  precipitated  the  rush 
lo  Kimberley.  Kimberley  was  a  failure;  men  lan- 
guished on  the  scorched,  bewildering  trail,  died  of 
fever  and  disillusionnunl  (jU  the  fields,  iH'rished 
of  hunger  and  thirst  and  uttermost  exhaust'';n  on 
the  dis])irited  way  back.  But  presently  there  were 
mild  discoveries  to  the  south  -taimting  promises  of 
the  greater  thing;  and  .some  ten  years  later  Bagley 

57 


!■' 


AUSTRALIAN    FiYWAVS 

stumbled  (in  the  riches  of  a  fain,-  talc  in  a  dry  deso- 
lation ealled  by  the  aborif:;inals  C^>f)lKardie.  Cool- 
gardie  was  overrun  by  a  wild  motley  from  the  several 
Australian  colonies  and  the  far  four  quarters  of  the 
earth.  Within  the  year  Pat  Ilannan  scralthed  the 
earth  at  Kal^cxirlie  and  disclosed  in  one  delirious 
day  square  miles  of  wealth  in  alluvial  jjold.  1  )reams 
came  true-  the  maddest  visions  of  the  leanest  ohl 
},'ravbeard  who  had  i>rosi)ected  that  parched  and 
fiery  waste  through  years  of  dogged  expectation. 
Came,  then,  the  rush  to  Siberia— to  Hulong  antl 
White  Feather  and  Jilack  Flag  and  Hroad  Arrow. 
A  nuggit  of  lour  lun.dred  and  sixty-tliree  ounces  was 
uncart  lied;  and  subsetjuently  the  Hobby  Dazzlcr  — 
four  hundred  and  eighty-seven  yellow  ounces  in  a 
lum])  enriched  a  digger  of  Shark's  Ciully.  Cajiital 
came  leaping  in  to  absorb  the  reefs:  there  was  buy- 
ing and  selling;  there  were  syiKhcates,  certifi«ates 
of  stock,  a  tnarket  for  shares;  tlu-re  was  sudden  for- 
timc,  ruination  overniglit.  merry  tlitting  to  L<»ndoti, 
suicide,  building  of  churches  and  scIhxjIs,  deliriiun 
tremens. 

i'rivate  organization  now  gravely  jm-sides  over 
these  resources;  Init  a  little  spark  of  m-ws.  tirifting 
in  with  the  hot  wind  from  U-yond  the  salt  lakes  to 
touch  the  enduritig  hope,  would  still  ixphKlc  a  loud 
and  blazing  nish  to  the  farthest  deserts,  '"rhe  gold 
was  here."  they  reason.  "Why  uuly  here?  It's  a 
big  country.  There  arc  hundreds  of  thous;intls  ol 
s<|uare  miles  to  explore  and  ])rospcct.  Tin  ri'U  be  ,i 
luw  CtK)lgardie  some  day,  no  fear  another  Kab 
goorliel"  And  so  still  they  go  al>oui  with  an  car 
op*  n  to  faint  sounds,  with  an  eye  peeled  to  descry 
mvslcrioub  doings  and  dcjiartures,  with  lips  occui)icd 

5ii 


1 


V. 
S 


n 


COOLGARDIE    FORSAKEN 

with  low  whispers  out  of  hoarinp;,  with  a  persistent- 
ly inquisitive  attitude  toward  strangers.     But  old 
Cool^ardic — where  onoc  the  streets  wore  filled  with 
swagger  and  prodigal  riot,  where  fortunes  slipped 
through  the  elaws  of  old  men  gone  imbeeile  with 
good  luck  and  vanished  overnight  from  the  blistered 
hands  of  ycnmg  wastrels,  where  once  the  homeliest 
barmaid  washed  her  hair  with  ehami)agne-  is  now 
by  contrast  deserted  and  destitute.     In  its  heyday 
of  a  fi'w  whirling  years  and  through  the  times  of  its 
quick   degeneration    the   (>)oIgardie   field   })roduced 
nearly  six  million  pounds  in  new  gtild.     Yet  not  long 
ago,  at  three  o'clock  of  a  midsunmier  aftemoon,  I 
waited,  watch  in  hand,  in  the  main  street  of  the  town, 
for  sotne  sign  of  life— some  companionable  sound  or 
movement ;   and  for  more  than  seven  minutes,  until 
a  child  whimiKTcd  distress  in  the  heat  near  by,   I 
stared  at  a  row  cjf  vacant  shoj)s,  at  drifting  Just- 
clouds,  at   the  burnished   jirospect  beyond,  and  at 
the  otK-n  d(X)rs  of  eleven  public-house-  bars,  six  on 
one  side  of  the  street  and  five  on  the  other.     The 
imblic-houscs  implied  inhabitants;  and  a  shriveled 
l)oster,  in  a  shoj)  window,  announeiiig  the  appear- 
ance  of    Rob    HaqxT's    I'hysical    Culture   (}irls   at 
Koyal  Hall,  implied  a  place  of  amusement  and  a 
])opulation  dc-speratcly  eager  for  distraction. 

Miilway  between  C'(Hjlgardic  and  Kalg(M)rlie  there 
is  a  gathering  of  shanties.     It  is  called  Kurrawanc 
"What  do  the  people  do  herer"  I  imiuired  of  a 
native. 

"Oh,"  said  he,   "several  things." 
"No  doubt,"  I  iKTsislfd;    "but  u'luilf" 
"Damned    if  I    know,"   he  eonfesse.I.     "I    never 
incjuired  " 


I 


i 


t 


m 


NEIGHBORS   OF   TUE   GOLDEN   MILE 


KALGOORLIE  and  Boulder,  considerable  cities 
which  adjoin  near  where  Pat  Hannan  scratched 
out  his  nuggets  in  the  early  days,  arc  noisy  with  life 
and  ambition;  and  as  long  as  the  Golden  Mile 
flourishes  to  sustain  them  they  will  continue  to  thrive 
and  aspire  in  spite  of  the  immensity  and  horrible 
character  of  the  desert  land  which  isolates  them  from 
rivers  and  fertile  i)laces  and  the  bounty  of  a  kindly 
soil.  They  run  with  the  times:  they  provide  them- 
selves with  comforts;  they  amuse  themselves;  they 
are  adorned ;  they  regard  their  duty  to  the  state  and 
consider  the  future  of  their  children's  children.  The 
Golden  Mile  lies  within  sight  of  Hannan's  old  claim 
— the  smoke  and  dust  and  black  suix'rstnictures  of  a 
thin  line  of  deep  and  vastly  rich  mines.  One  of 
the  group  — nf)t  the  pride  of  them  all — must  pnxluce 
LV)oo  a  day  to  kiep  the  stockholders  in  good  humor 
with  its  Ix'havior;  and  the  affection  of  the  directors 
would  Ix-  largely  increased— it  was  intimated— if  a 
responsive  gcxnl  conduit  should  increase  even  this 
gratifying  yield  to  L'l  ,000  a  day.  Roughly  sjK'uking, 
the  Golden  Mile  and  its  les.Her  neighbors  of  Kalg(x)rlie 
the  big  shows,  as  distinguished  from  the  individ- 
ual enterprises  scattered  broadcast  over  the  country, 

60 


NEIGHBORS   OF   GOLDEN    MILE 


I-: 


which  arc  calU-d  httlc  shows— employ  five  thousand 
men  and  pnnkice  I'.^.ooc.ooo  a  year;  and  the  whole 
field  in  which  the  ( ".olden  Mile  is  situated  ha:;  from 
the  first  days  of  the  Kaljj(K)rlie  ntsh,  twenty  years 
ago,  prfxhuctl  almost  l'56,ooo,ooo,  which,  stated 
more  imjjressively  in  dollars,  amounts  to  trt-o  hun- 
dred and  eij,'hty  millifms.  It  was  pointed  out  by 
a  furious  younji  mcml)er  of  the  Labor  i)arty  of  West- 
em  Australia  that  the  wealth  Uikvn  from  these  few 
miles  of  wilderness  whiih  once  were  public  domain 
e(|ualcd  nearly  LV)oo  per  cai)ita  of  the  maximum 
jKJimlation  of  the  district. 

And  cons<.>ciucnlly  - 

"Who  K'cts  it  all?"  he  demanded. 

I  coiild  not  I'lilij^hten  him. 

"St(M-khold(TS  in  London,"  he  snapped,  "who 
never  saw  the  j^'old-ficlds!" 

Tiiis  sort  of  tiling'  concerns  ihcm  feverishly  in 
Australia— not  by  any  means  generally  in  a  fashion 
.so  raw. 


li 


Quite  aside  from  the  marvel  f)f  all  this  wealth  and 
the  achievement  of  winning  it  by  means  of  those  as- 
tonishing modern  ])r()ccsscs  which  are  the  i)retty 
boast  of  the  state,  a  conniumily  of  old  men.  tieigh- 
bors  of  the  (ioldeii  Mile,  stationary  near  by  in  a 
tnurky  baikwater  of  the  gold-seeking  stream,  pro- 
vides a  s])ectacle  of  iK'ciili.ir  i)athos  and  i)resently 
becomes  a  i)oigiiant  stimulus  to  refiection.  Within 
hundreds  of  desiecated  miles  of  the  old  alluvial  fiilds 
then-  was  no  (lowing  water,  (lold  was  dry-blown  in 
the  limis  of  the  great  rush.  That  is  to  say;  they 
spaded  the  soil  fnmi  shallow  treiuhes;  they  sifted 
it   hurriedly   fur   the   lar-er  s|K'eimens;     tlie\    threw 


I 


i 


t 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

the  residue  into  the  wind;  they  deftly  caught  it  again 
in  iron  dishes;  once  more  and  yet  again  and  again 
they  tossed  it  up  to  cleanse  it  of  the  lighter  waste; 
and  at  last  they  clawed  it  over  for  little  nuggets  a  J 
specks.  In  the  roaring  early  days  a  cloud  of  n  1 
dust  hid  the  crowded  and  feverish  activities  of  thf 
camps.  New-comers  could  see  it  rising  from  tlu- 
desert  like  some  poisonous  smoke;  and  approaching 
— they  relate — they  could  hear  from  the  misty 
depths  of  it  the  astounding  roar  of  the  gravel  in  the 
pans  and  the  laughter  and  disputation  of  the  day's 
frantic  wfirk.  I'hey  remember  the  cloud  well 
encmgh— the  hell-cloud  (as  they  say)— and  the  in- 
credibly thirsty  and  blinding  (juality  of  it;  but  the 
great  commotion  of  the  gravel  raining  in  uninter- 
rupted down^KJur  into  thousands  of  iron  pans, 
sounding  in  torrential  vfilimie  from  the  dust  and 
howling  pit  which  hid  its  character,  so  bewildered 
them  that,  looking  back  from  these  days  of  drear 
(juiet,  they  are  at  a  loss  to  describe  its  singularly 
disc]uieting  effect. 

The  first  adventurers — an  amazing  company  of 
broken  gentlemen,  of  younger  sons  and  thieves  anil 
red  old  prosjjcctors  and  honest  fellows  of  everj'  de- 
gree, mixed  from  the  slums  and  gloomy  oflices  of 
British  cities,  from  the  English  colleges  and  staid 
countrysides,  from  the  American  West  and  the  north- 
ern wastes  and  the  old  diggings  of  Victoria  and  New 
South  Wales-  pawed  out  the  obvious  gold  in  haste 
and  returned  to  their  ])revious  occui)ations  or  de- 
parted with  their  parasites  of  the  bars  and  dancv- 
halls  in  a  new  delirium  to  the  virgin  fields  of  South 
Africa  and  Alaska.  They  had  come  in  a  vast, 
tumultuous  horde,  to  witi  or  waste;    and  off  they 

62 


NEIGHBORS   OF   GOLDEN    MILE 


stamijeded  to  new  worlds,  the  boldest  of  them,  when 
the  news  of  richer  places  came  shouting  over  the 
desert  from  the  sea — jumix'd  from  the  January 
heat  and  blistering  light  of  the  Coolgardic  dry- 
lands to  the  January  cold  and  long  night  of  the 
Yukon.  Presently  all  that  was  left  behind  was  the 
human  wreckage  of  the  camps — men  held  prisoners 
by  a^c  and  ill  health  and  empty  pockets  and  the 
atrophy  of  courage  to  adventure  any  more.  These 
stolidly  remained  in  the  last  fields  thej-  might  ever 
search — never  advancing  beyond  the  old  customs, 
hardly  altering  the  old,  serviceable  costume,  living 
to  themselves,  "batching  it"  in  precisely  the  old 
circumstances  of  gold-fields  existence,  apart  from  the 
generation  and  cut  off  from  the  new  thrift  and  prosy 
method  of  the  times,  doubtless  dwelling  with  glori- 
fied memories  of  old  events  and  the  ghosts  of  old 
companions;  and  there  to  this  day,  a  dwindling 
community,  neighbors  of  the  opulent  Golden  Mile, 
forgotten,  they  continue  to  exhaust  their  days. 

In  these  lean  years — in  the  day  when  the  keepers 
of  the  house  shall  tremble,  and  the  strong  men  shall  bow 
themselves,  and  the  grinders  cease  because  they  are  Jew, 
and  those  that  look  out  of  the  windows  be  darkened  .  .  . 
or  ci'er  the  silver  cord  be  loosed  or  the  golden  bowl  be 
broken,  or  the  pitcher  be  broken  at  the  fountain,  or  the 
wheel  broken  at  the  cistern— in  these  lean  years  the 
old  codgers  must  burrow  deeper  than  their  fellows 
burrowed  in  the  prodigal  days  of  twenty  years 
ago,  and  must  sift  again  and  again  the  imi)over- 
ished  tailings  of  the  forsaken  camps,  watching  with 
glazed  and  blistered  eyes  for  the  yellow  glitter  in  the 
bottom  of  the  pans,  more  alertly,  now,  in  their  age 
and  need.     Nobody  knows  them ;  they  have  no  liabi- 

63 


MICROCOfV    RESMUTION   TEST  CHART 

(ANSI  ond  ISO  TEST  CHART  No   2) 


|36 

■  40 


2^ 
2.2 


12.0 


1.8 


/APPLIED  \MA3E     Inc 

'65!    Eas!    Mail    SlrMl 

Rochesle'.   N»w    I'o't-        U609       USA 

(716)    *ej  -  OJOO       Phon, 

(716)  J88  -  5989  -  fa. 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

tations  except  disjointed  and  grotesque  contraptions 
of  corrugated  iron  and  rotting  canvas;  they  have  no 
kin  except  the  faces  that  people  visions;  they  have  no 
attachments  of  friendship  except  among  themselves; 
they  have  no  names  known  generally  even  to  one 
another  except  the  crisp  sobriquets  of  the  old  camps. 
By  day,  on  the  edge  of  town,  isolated  little  pufTs  of 
dust  drift  off  from  their  labor  with  the  hot  wind 
and  declare  their  trembling  activity;  and  by  night, 
where  once  in  the  flare  of  the  diggings  the  worid 
swarmed  with  noisy  mates,  their  meager  camp-fires- 
points  of  light  in  the  shadows  of  the  wide,  aban- 
doned fields  -illumine  a  background  of  some  fan- 
tastic shanty  and  disclose  the  last  gatherings  of  these 
gray  wraiths  and  rapscallions  yarning  heartily  to- 
gether like  the  veterans  of  some  old  war. 

No  odds  are  asked  of  life.  These  neighbors  cherish 
a  ragged  independence.  Cheery  old  fellows,  diggers 
of  the  old  school,  they  followed  their  will  to  this 
place  and  extremity  and  they  follow  their  fancy  still. 

"Us  old  blokes,"  it  was  with  a  flash  of  spirit  ex- 
plained, "won't  work  for  no  'ii-a^cs!" 

It  seems  the  scornful  implication  was  that  the  new 
and  contemptible  gold-fields  generation  had  no  man- 
hood sufTuient  to  keep  its  neck  from  the  yoke  of  the 
masters  of  the  (lolden  Mile. 


XI 


THE    ETERNAL    FLAME 


rt 


It; 


IT  was  so  very  hot  in  Kalgoorlie — a  thin,  dry, 
blazing  heat,  widely  distinguished  from  the  thick 
oppression  of  a  humid  hot  wave — that  a  swift  shock 
of  surprise  and  concern  accompanied  a  first  plunge 
into  the  white  sunlight ;  nor  was  a  venture  from  the 
shady  side  of  the  broad  street  thereafter  to  be  under- 
taken— at  least  by  any  stranger — without  a  mo- 
mentary pause  of  speculation  as  to  the  outcome  of 
the  foolhardiness  of  it.  It  was  amazing  to  discover 
that  the  sun  could  strike  so  straight  and  keen  and 
deep,  that  it  could  blind  and  daze  a  man.  Un- 
officially it  was  said  to  be  one  hundred  and  sixteen  in 
the  shade.  It  is  quite  beyond  my  temerity — this 
estimate  being  taken  for  accurate  within  a  range  of 
six  or  seven  degrees — to  compute  the  sun  tempera- 
ture of  that  mid-morning.  It  would  storm,  they 
said.  Rain?  Oh  no!  It  wouldn't  ra/«.'  It  hadn't 
really  raiticd — not  rained  in  any  quantity  to  make 
the  gold-fields  proud — for  more  than  three  years. 
Nobody  expected  rain.  But  it  would  blow  a  gale — 
a  dust -wind;  and  when  the  sand  had  settled  the  tet"- 
perature  would  surely  fall  to  a  point  which  would  at 
least  relieve  a  timid  traveler  of  the  expectation  of 
being  roasted  in  his  habiliments  before  he  could  escape 

65 


H>f 


»  'I 


i 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

the  countr>^  Beyond  town,  where  the  old  dry-blowers 
work,  there  was  no  breeze;  the  flat,  red  land— descr 
without  end  and  all  stripped  and  scarred  and  soikv. 
—was  almost  intolerable.  The  heat  struck  down 
and  rebounded  with  hardly  diminished  fervor;  no 
breath  of  wind  stirred  in  the  dry  world  and  there  was 
no  gauze  of  cloud  or  impalpable  contents  of  the  air 
to  mitigate  the  scorching  quality  of  the  light. 

By  and  by  I  sat  down  on  some  old  mound  of  waste 
earth  to  rest  a  little  from  the  toil  of  wandering  these 
famed  acres  in  that  disheartening  weather.     Near 
by,  at  the  edge  of  a  deep  trench,  an  old  man— an  old, 
old  man— was  with  dull  patience  shaking  his  dig- 
gings through  an  antiquated  invention  for  sifting. 
He  was  the  oldest  man  I  ever  saw  at  labor — a  ragged, 
bent,  knee-spnmg  agglomeration  of  bones  and  dried- 
out  muscle  and  disreputable  gray  hair;  and  he  was 
lean   and   wrinkled   beyond   belief,   and   burned   a 
leathery  red,  tanned,  indeed,  to  the  depth  of  a  hide 
from  the  vat,  as  though  through  skin  and  flesh  to 
the  marrow  of  his  crazy  skeleton.     I  gave  him  good- 
day  and  begged  the  favor  of  permission  to  watch  his 
work.     He  would  not  look  at  me;  but  he  shifted  his 
glance,  uneasy,  troubled  by  shyness  as  by  a  stab  of 
phj'sical  pain,  and  was  momentarily  conscious  of  a 
Litrange  presence,  I  am  .sure.     I  should  have  gone 
away,  disconcerted,  ashamed  of  this  intrusion,  had 
I  not  i)erceived  that  the  next  instant  he  had  for- 
gotten me,  that  the  plain  was  blank  again  in  so  far 
as  he  was  in  any  way  aware.     Presently,  with  a 
gesture  and  angry  mutter  of  disgust,  he  gave  up  a 
futile  search  of  the  sieves  and  sat  to  rest  in  a  vacant 
way;   and  then,  all  at  once,  grimly  renewing  a  de- 
termination which  must  in  its  prime  have  been  of 

66 


THE    ETERNAL    FLAME 

gigantically  dynamic  proportions,  he  gathered  some 
siftings  in  his  jjan  and  tossed  them  up  and  caught 
them  back.  There  was  no  wind ;  no  dust  drifted  ofT ; 
and  so  he  must  employ  his  old  lungs  for  bellows,  and 
blow  and  wheeze  and  gasp  until  he  fairly  jjanted  for 
breath  sufficient  to  his  own  need. 

As  the  ghastly  operation  drew  to  its  close  I  ob- 
served that  he  was  agitated  with  expectation.  His 
legs  trembled,  the  pan  shook  in  his  hands;  the  old 
fever  of  the  gold-search  began  to  burn  again— to 
stimulate  his  hope.  But  nothing  came  of  it — noth- 
ing— not  a  speck  to  reward  the  labor  of  his  moniing. 
His  interest  collapsed.  The  pan  fell  at  his  feet. 
And  he  sat  down  again,  and  fanned  the  flies  from 
the  grimy  sweat  of  his  lean,  red  face,  and  discon- 
solately smoothed  his  dusty  white  beard,  and  sighed 
— all  as  though  fortune  had  dealt  him  a  foul  blow. 

"I  can't  rise  no  color,"  he  muttered. 

Conceiving  this  observation  to  have  been  ad- 
dressed to  me,  I  inquired: 

"Why,  then,  do  you  dig  in  this  place?" 

"I  can't  rise  no  color,"  he  repeated. 

"Since  when,"  said  I,  "have  you  had  any  luck?" 

"Jus' — can't — rise — no — color!" 

He  was  still  si)asmodically  fanning  off  the  ghoulish 
flics,  still  occasionally  lugging  in  bewilderment  at 
his  old  gray  beard,  still  sighing,  still  staring,  dis- 
consolate, into  the  vacancy  of  his  world.  I  ikt- 
ceived  that  he  had  not  spoken  to  me,  that  his  con- 
sciousness did  not  stray  beyond  the  boundaries  of 
his  disappointment,  that  the  plain  was  still  blank  of 
any  jjrescnce  save  his  own. 

"And  I'm  a  patient  man,"  he  sighed,  despairing. 
I'm — a — very — pat  ient — man . ' ' 

67 


1' 


'  i 


' 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 


Beyond  this  demented  man  I  fell  in  with  a  com- 
municative old  fellow  who  seemed  with  unexampled 
and  most  exemplary  courage  to  have  preserved  a 
joyous  delight  with  life  through  all  his  years  of  gold- 
fields  luck  and  failure.  He  apologized  at  once  for 
the  unsocial  habit  of  digging  alone.  His  mate  (said 
he) — this  in  the  Australian  vernacular  being  the 
equivalent  of  the  American  "pardner" — with  whom 
he  had  shared  fortunes  for  twenty-seven  years,  the 
fat  and  lean  of  them  all,  had  died  and  been  s'owed 
away  two  years  before.  He  had  himself  been  landed 
in  Melbourne  in  1859,  to  win  quick  riches  and  live 
a  gentleman  all  the  rest  of  his  days — fifty-four  years 
ago;  and  he  had  been  no  raw  youngster  (said  he) 
even  in  those  historic  years.  "Aged  eighty -one,  sir, 
this  summer.  You  wouldn't  credit  it,  would  ye,  sir, 
in  a  old  bloke  o'  my  power?"  In  outward  aspect  he 
was  not  by  so  much  as  a  blackfellow's  wash  (which 
is  no  wash  at  all)  improved  above  his  wretched  neigh- 
bor; his  state  was  in  every  way  quite  as  deplorable, 
his  rags  as  inadequate,  his  layer  of  wet,  red  dust  as 
deep  and  as  wide-spread  and  as  permanent.  But 
vicissitude  had  not  daunted  him :  he  was  still  vastly 
confident  of  turning  the  tables  on  Fate ;  and  he  lived 
well  enough,  for  a  hard  dd  digger  like  him  (said  he), 
on  his  takings  and  the  old-age  pension  of  seven  shil- 
lings a  week.  Moreover — if  one  could  believe  the 
sly  admission — he  knew  the  secrets  of  these  fields. 
Ah,  there  were  many,  many  secrets! — abandoned 
claims  which  had  fabulously  yielded  in  the  early 
days.  This  very  spot — the  very  hole  he  was  dig- 
ging over — had  given  a  fortune  to  a  Frenchman  in 
•q8. 

"What  luck  this  morning?"  I  asked. 

68 


THE    ETERNAL    FLAME 


"Ah,  well,"  said  he,  "I  reckon  I'll  strike  a  bit  o' 
color  this  afternoon." 

It  would  be  hard  luck,  I  agreed,  if  the  day  should 
fail  him. 

"Ah,  well,"  said  he,  "I  reckon  I'll  strike  it  to- 
morrow, anyhow.  Thai,"  said  he,  positively,  "I'm 
sure  of." 

In  the  mean  time  I  had  in  an  absent  way  been 
whirling  some  sif tings  about  in  the  old  man's  pan — 
sometimes  throwing  up  the  dirt,  for  sport,  and  awk- 
wardly recapturing  it,  and  once  in  a  while  blowing 
off  the  confusing  dust.  There  had  in  the  beginning 
been  no  motive  in  this  play;  but  by  this  time,  curi- 
ously, I  was  possessed  of  a  lively  wish  to  discover 
whether  or  not  some  grains  of  gold  would  lie  disclosed 
in  the  heavy  residue  when  I  had  blown  the  pan  out. 
I  began  to  toss  the  dirt  in  earnest,  and  to  blow  with 
determined  intention  to  see  the  little  adventure 
through  to  the  end.  And  observing  this  genuine 
absorption,  the  old  man  kept  watch  with  me  for  the 
color  of  gold. 

And— 

"Ha!"  he  cried,  pouncing  with  delicate  touch  upon 
a  pitiful  little  yellow  speck. 

And— 

"Ha!"  I  cried,  too.  "This  isn't  too  bad!  I  reckon 
I'll  blow  another  pan!" 

Upon  this  the  old  man  looked  me  straight  in  the 
eye  and  chuckled  in  a  way  to  indicate  that  the  joke 
was  on  me.  Presently  he  was  laughing  so  heartily 
that  he  held  his  old  sides  to  case  the  sjjasm.  A  fancy 
that  he  would  soon  shake  himself  to  pieces,  that  in 
another  instant  he  would  lie  in  tatters  and  fragments 
before  my  very  eyes,  had  a  more  excellent  inspiration 

6y 


i  ( 


•  m 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

than  many  a  laughable  exaggeration  I  have  en- 
countered in  books.  I  had  felt  a  touch  of  the  fever, 
he  declared,  when  he  could  command  himself;  and 
this  was  true  enough,  to  be  sure,  and  excuse  enough 
— attacking  me  on  these  depleted  old  diggings — for 
any  man's  laughter.  But  now,  when  this  hearty 
explosion  of  his  humor  had  crackled  off  in  little 
chuckles  and  gasps  and  had  at  last  vanished  in  grins, 
and  when  I  had  been  shown  a  glass  vial  which  con- 
tained a  few  grains  of  gold,  and  when  I  had  hemmed 
and  hawed  and  doubtfully  ventured  to  propose  an 
exchange  of  ten  shillings  for  the  receptacle  and  its 
contents,  a  frightful  change  came  upon  the  old  man. 
He  began  to  weep,  to  pray  in  the  midst  of  his  sobs 
that  God  Almighty  Himself  would  shower  me  with 
blessings  for  this  manifestation  of  generosity.  And 
I  stood  astonished,  for  I  had  thought  him  not  im- 
poverished beyond  the  ample  satisfaction  of  his  need. 
This  disclosure — the  brave  and  merry  demeanor  of 
the  old  fellow  which  now  in  collapse  seemed  almost 
to  have  been  a  resplendent  achievement  of  char- 
acter— would  shock  any  man  to  search  his  own  soul 
for  some  quality  to  equal  that  splendid  independ- 
ence. 

Aged  eighty-one — and  a  prodigal!  And  it  turned 
out  that  he  had  not  dug  the  worth  of  five  shillings 
in  a  mciith! 


•'     i 


XII 

"drink  and  the  devil" 

T  CALLED  at  the  shack  of  the  EngHsh  Lord,  but 
^  found  him  gone  to  a  public-house  with  the  Old 
Professor;  and  I  have  no  means  of  knowing  that  he 
did  not  thrash  the  jockey,  that  he  was  not  guilty 
of  shady  race-track  practices  under  the  very  nose 
of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  that  he  had  not  declined  to 
marry  the  lady  of  his  father's  choice,  that  the  Duke 
had  not  forbidden  him  the  estates  and  heartlessly 
disinherited  him,  that  he  was  not  a  gentleman  of 
education  and  breeding  and  of  a  charming  conver- 
sational capacity  in  his  cups,  nor  can  I  controvert  the 
assertion  that  he  would,  and  could,  with  aristocrat- 
ic grace  borrow  a  blind  beggar-woman's  last  j^cnny. 
I  discreetly  avoided  ihe  political  Irishman,  being 
warned  that  the  latest  news  of  the  progress  of  Home 
Rule  in  the  British  Parliament — his  departure  from 
home  must  have  dated  from  the  days  of  Clladstonc- 
had  so  enraged  him  that  he  had  threatened  the  lives 
of  all  the  cronies  he  possessed  were  he  so  much  as 
addressed  on  any  topic  under  the  sun.  He  dug  and 
sifted  and  blew  dust  in  a  fury  with  the  far-away 
members  of  Parliament;  and,  under  the  stars,  he 
mouthed  his  indignation  all  alone.  I  fell  in  with 
the  Miser — a  disgusting  ancient  of  the  Coolgardie 
6  71 


I'll 
i  '''I 


,'  h 


It;  fi 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

diggings.     He  was  rich,  he  was  surly,  he  was  dirty, 
he  was  ragged,  he  was  too  busy  to  tolerate  an  inter- 
ruption;   he  had  found  gold  in  the  early  days,  he 
was    known    to    the    bankers    of    Kalgoorlie — ten 
thousand  pounds  sterling  would  not  measure  his 
fortune  (they  said) ;  yet  he  could  find  no  happier  oc- 
cupation than  grubbing  for  an  added  store  of  gold. 
I  went  from  graybeard  to  graybeard,  from  foul 
hulk  to  foul  hulk,  from  hovel  to  hovel,  going  across 
and  around  the  rcl-hot  fields  in  a  rising  sandy  wind; 
and  I  found  no  young  men,  but  only  the  wrecks  of 
the  old  days — a  hundred  broken  victims  of  the  gold- 
search.     "I'll  raise   the  color  this  afternoon!     I'll 
strike  it  to-morrow!     That  I'm  sure  oil"     They  were 
settled  '.ere,  they  lived  in  shanties  out  of  the  dead 
town  of  Coolgardie,  they  burrowed  the  deserts  for 
miles  in  every  direction,  they  prospected  with  spirit 
as  far  as  their  lean  old  legs  would  carry  them.     "I'll 
raise   the   color   this  afternoon!    I'll   strike  it   to- 
morrow!    That  I'm  stirc  of!"    After  all,  whatever 
was  to  be  deplored,  they  were  not  greatly  to  be  pitied, 
but  rather,  with  discrimination,  to  be  regarded  with 
a  good  measure  of  astounded  approbation.     "I'll 
raise   the   color   this  afternoon!    I'll   strike  it   to- 
morrow!    That  I'm  sure  of!"     They  burdened  no- 
body;   they  had  not  come  to  the  bitter  pass — the 
helpless,  whimpering,  useless  hours — of  other  aged 
failures.     "I'll  raise  the  color  this  afternoon!     I'll 
strike  it  to-morrow!     That  Vm  sure  oil"     They  were 
old — very,  very  old.     And  they  were  dirty — vor}', 
very  dirty — and  reprobate  as  well.     But  the  days 
did  not  drag,  and  life  was  not  exhausted,  and  hope 
flamed  undiminished,  and  e.xpectalion  of  good  for- 
time  came  fresh  and  inspiring  with  every  sunrise. 

72 


I 


m 


kAISIMi    A    HIT    OK    COl.OK 


u* 


I!'    ?! 


"DRINK   AND   THE    DEVIL" 


"I'll  raise  the  color  this  afternoon!  I'll  strike  it 
to-morrow!  That  I'm  sure  of!"  Presently  the  wind 
drove  me  away  from  the  enchantment  of  these  old 
diggings,  from  the  wreckage  left  to  wither  within 
sight  of  the  London  stockholders'  Golden  Mile. 

Where  the  road  turns  to  the  first  public-houses  of 
the  town,  I  encountered  a  red  little  Irishman  sham- 
bling out  to  some  burrow  and  patch  of  canvas  that 
was  his  home — in  haste  too  eager  for  his  strength,  it 
seemed,  to  escape  the  dust-storm.  Never  had  I 
beheld  an  cjject  so  forlorn.  His  faded  dungaree 
trousers,  turned  up  near  to  the  original  knees,  yet 
slouching  over  his  shoes,  his  long  black  coat,  cut  in 
the  eighties,  I  am  sure,  for  a  man  twice  the  weight 
of  this  little  Irish  manikin,  flapped  about  his  bones 
like  the  garments  of  a  scarecrow.  Had  some  scare- 
crow of  the  fields  come  to  life  and  shuffled  out  of  a 
public-house  much  the  worse  of  his  stay,  I  should 
not  have  been  shaken  with  more  suq)rise  and  re- 
proachful amusement.  Nor  can  I  imagiiie  a  more 
wasted  little  man,  nor  a  more  gargoylish  counte- 
nance, nor  a  limpcr  and  more  perforated  and  tat- 
tered bush  hat,  nor  a  more  gigantic  head  topping  a 
more  diminutive  body,  nor  a  greater  wastrel  and 
more  obvious  outcast  with  a  more  ])ositivcly  philo- 
sophical cast  and  expanse  of  brow,  nor  decjwr 
drifts  and  smears  of  damp  gold  -  fields  dust.  He 
must  once  have  been  brown;  the  .sun  must  sure- 
ly have  tanned  him  deej) — and  did  tan  him  deep, 
I'll  be  bound;  but  the  jjroccss  had  been  continued 
until  the  little  man  was  now  eventually  bleached  a 
ghastly  white  except  where  a  multitude  of  freckles 
lay  in  shocking  contrast  with  his  pallor  and  emacia- 
tion.   And  I  stopped  to  look  him  over.    And  he 

73 


ii 


i  ■■ 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

stopped  to  look  mc  over.  Surely  one  gentleman 
may  without  offense  pause  on  the  road  to  appraise 
the  quality  and  condition  of  another!  And  so  we 
eyed  each  other,  his  glance  a  frigid  regard. 

"Good  day,  sir,"  said  I. 

"Good  day  t'  yon!"  he  retorted. 

"You — work  over  yonder?" 

"Idothot." 

No  resentment  was  implied.     I  gained  courage 
to  continue  more  intimately. 

"Here  in  the  early  days?"  I  inquired. 

"I  was  thot." 

"It  seems,"  I  ventured,  "that  you— that  you— 
were  not  visited  by  good  fortune." 

"I  was  not." 

"Too  bad!"  said  I. 

"It  is  not.     I'm  glad  of  ut." 

"You  are  glad—" 

"I  am." 

"But—"  I  began. 

"Them  that  struck  it  rich,"  said  he,  "is  all  dead 
o'  drink.     Years  ago,"  he  chuckled.     "I^ng  ago!" 

What  fortune  the  old  man  had  and  prized— for- 
tune above  the  wasted  wealth  of  dead  men — was 
the  breath  of  life  in  his  withered  body.  He  was 
alive  —alive ! 

A  dust-storm  came  down— a  cloud  of  driving  hot 
sand  from  the  encircling  dry  waste.  It  darkened 
the  day,  it  swept  the  diggings  and  choked  the 
shanties,  it  envclopc-d  the  Golden  Mile  in  a  mist 
more  terrible  than  the  smoke  of  its  prosperity,  it 
ran  swishing  through  the  streets  of  the  town.  It 
blew  like  a  black  blizzard.     Bang  went  the  windows; 

74 


"DRINK   AND   THE    DEVIL" 

bang  went  the  doors!  All  the  decrepit  old  neighbors 
of  the  lusty  Golden  Mile  took  to  the  shelter  of  their 
hovels— until,  when  the  gale  failed  and  the  stars 
shone  out,  their  camp-fires  began  to  glimmer  in  the 
shadows  and  blessed  cool  of  evening. 


I' 


\ 


XIII 


A   DAY   OR  TWO   IN   THE    DRYLANDS 


III 


|j     (j 


RIDING  out  from  Kalgoorlie,  eastward,  to  the 
edge  of  the  habitable  places,  and  somewhat 
beyond,  we  came  at  last  to  a  rocky  elevation  from 
which  the  land  fell  sharply  to  a  flat  alkaline  wilder- 
ness. From  this  desolate  hill,  for  the  moment  ap- 
palled by  what  we  saw,  wc  looked  off  in  the  long, 
dry  direction  of  the  center  of  the  continent — those 
many  of  miles  of  still  disreputable  country,  con- 
cerning which  many  confusing  tales  are  told,  these 
having  variously  to  do  with  grass-lands  and  stony 
deserts,  with  wide,  hopeless  wastes  of  scrub  and 
dust,  with  new  domains  of  pastoral  land  awaiting 
settlement,  and  with  good-pastured  stock-routes  and 
waterless  tracts  of  sand  and  spinnifex.  Whatever 
quality  these  lands  may  at  last  turn  out  to  have 
here,  at  any  rate,  four  hundred  miles  from  the  fer- 
tile coastal  reaches  and  well  past  the  remotest  desert 
mine,  was  the  end  of  the  Western  Australian  world. 
There  were  no  habitations  beyond :  no  path  led  on 
to  the  east.  From  the  crest  of  the  hill  we  had  a 
glimpse  of  the  very  sorriest  habitable  Australian 
country. 

We  faced  a  flaming  wilderness — a  red  prospect, 
splashed  with  the  green  of  hardy  scrub,  its  distances, 

76 


1 1 


IN   THE    DRYLANDS 

where  a  sullen  wind  was  stirring,  lying  in  a  haze  of 
heat  and  crimson  dust,  out  of  which  the  sky  rose 
pallid,  vaulting  overhead  high  and  hot  and  deepest 
blue.  Behind  us  the  lean  trees — the  quick  and  the 
dead — ran  diminishing  to  the  north,  and  there 
vanished,  discouraged.  From  the  salt-land  to  the 
south  they  seemed  to  shrink  aghast — to  huddle  back 
upon  themselves  and  deviate  over  the  horizon  in 
fright  and  haste.  There  was  a  vast  salt-pan  be- 
low, somewhat  forward  into  the  waste,  stretching  an 
ugly  length  farther  than  sight  could  carry  from  the 
crest  of  the  hill,  with  straits,  bays,  bluff  shores, 
meadows  of  white  slime — a  chain  of  dry,  incrusted 
lakes,  most  treacherous  to  cross,  being  in  wide  spaces 
coated  thin  above  quagmires  of  salty  mud,  the 
shores  a  quicksand,  the  surface  foul  and  deadly 
(they  said)  with  a  low-lying,  poisonous  vapor. 


I' 


Presently  it  will  be  possible  to  land  at  Freemantle 
of  Western  Australia  and  ]Dass  by  railroad  to  Sydney 
much  as  one  might  go  from  San  Francisco  to  New 
York  by  way  of  New  Orleans.  But  there  is  no  over- 
land trail  going  east  and  west  through  the  central 
drylands;  nor  ever  was — nor  ever  can  be.  These 
inimical  lands,  which  now  glowed  red-hot  beyond 
us,  are  a  wide,  effectual  barrier,  stretching  from  the 
middle  southern  shores,  which  are  uninhabitable,  far 
up  toward  the  abundant  tropical  country  in  the 
north,  which  is  hardly  inhabited.  No  mild  traveler 
could  adventure  far  to  the  east  of  where  we  stood 
and  for  long  endure  the  miseries  of  his  journey. 
An  expediiion  of  proportions,  outfitted  with  ex- 
perienced precaution — a  sea  '^d  leader  with  his 
camels  and  bushmcn  and  bi.      I'ellows  —  could  not 

77 


' 


)  ! 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 


'} 


» 


advance  tlirough  the  center  from  Kalgoorlie  and 
come  safely  to  the  nearest  settlements  of  Sydney 
Side  except  by  grace  of  those  fortuitous  chances 
which  men  in  the  extremity  of  distress  call  the  good- 
ness of  Providence. 

Returning  afoot  from  this  depressing  prospect  to 
a  new  point  of  departure,  we  came  soon  to  a  shallow 
gully,  which  I  fancied  we  had  not  penetrated  on  our 
devious  course  to  the  crest  of  the  hill.  And  here  our 
bushman — himself  regarding  the  feat  as  a  meanest 
commonplace  of  the  bush — displayed  a  certain  as- 
tonishing aptitude.  Truly  he  was  a  very  dirty 
white  man— a  monstrously  lazy  fellow!  Yet  in  a 
way  most  highly  to  commend  him  he  was  given 
to  industrious  reflection  ujwn  all  the  faint  little 
traces  of  desert  life  he  encountered  as  we  went  along. 
These  absorbed  him,  occasionally,  much  as  an  in- 
terval of  deep  thinking  sometimes  abstracts  a  scholar 
from  his  company.  He  would  interrupt  himself  to 
stare  at  some  small  space  of  earth;  and  at  the  end 
of  the  pause,  having  achieved  an  inference  to  his 
satisfaction,  he  would  abruptly  resume  his  way  and 
conversation.  As  I  look  back  upon  him — listening 
again  to  his  slow  revelations — it  seems  to  me  that  he 
coveted  bush  lore  more  than  a  man  should  wish  for 
anything  and  seek  it  at  a  i)rice. 

"We  did  not  come  this  way,"  I  maintained. 

"Ah,  yes,"  he  yawned. 

I  insisted  that  this  was  not  so. 

"Ah,  well,"  he  drawled,  e^'ing  me  with  amuse- 
ment, "I  sec  the  tracks,  right  enough." 

Now  the  ground  hereabouts  was  of  red  earth 
mixed  with  gravel  and  outcro])pings  of  ironstone, 
which  nearh'  matched  its  color.     It  was  baked  so 

78 


IN   THE    DRYLANDS 


hard  that  the  press  of  a  heel  left  no  trace  that  I 
could  descry;  and  it  gripped  the  stones  so  fast  that 
to  be  dislodged  they  must  be  kicked  out.  It  seemed 
that  a  man  would  have  no  trace  whatsoever  of  his 
passing.  I  returned  a  little  upon  our  immediate 
tracks,  looking  for  some  sign  of  our  ])assage  of  this 
path  which  I  knew  we  had  followed;  but,  though  the 
search  was  both  deliberate  and  diligent,  it  did  not 
reveal  to  me  the  slightest  mdication  that  the  ground 
had  in  any  way  been  disturbed.  Altogether  baffled — 
somewhat  incredulous,  too — I  demanded  to  be  shown 
the  tracks  which  the  bushman  had  observed.  And 
he  pointed  forward  a  matter  of  si.x  paces.  Yet  after 
a  period  of  painstaking  observation  I  could  dis- 
tinguish nothing;  nor  could  I  find  the  sign  until  the 
bushman  advanced  in  impatient  disgust  with  my 
incapacity  and  put  his  finger  on  it. 

It  was  a  dislodged  pebble,  no  larger  than  a  peach- 
stone,  the  measure  of  its  disturbance  in  its  mold 
being  not  more,  I  am  sure,  than  an  eighth  of  an  inch. 

"Why,  dod-blime  me,"  the  bu.shman  exploded,  "I 
could  follow  this  track  on  a  galloji!" 

Off  he  went,  on  a  sort  of  slow  run,  to  make  good 
this  gigantic  boast;  and  make  it  good  he  did,  sure 
enough — coming  now  and  again  to  a  shar])  standstill 
to  indicate  the  whereabouts  of  an  overturned  stone 
or  a  broken  twig  of  dead  brusiiv»v.jd.  The  display 
of  this  sharp,  sure  sight,  swiftly  engaging  its  object, 
was  a  more  amazing  pcrfonnance  of  the  sort  than  I 
had  ever  hojx'd  to  behold.  I^resently  he  stopi)ed  to 
declare  that  half  a  dozen  ])aces  beyond  I  had  on  our 
outward  course  halted  to  make  a  cigarette.  When 
he  pointed  out  the  fresh-charred  stub  of  a  match  it 
was,  of  course,  obvious  that  one  of  our  party  had 

79 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 


ii   i 


II' 


''(i 


I"'     1 ! 


in  that  place  begun  to  smoke.  But  why  I?  A  few 
flakes  of  my  peculiar  tobacco,  which  I  had  not  ob- 
served— nor  had  I  observed  the  stub  of  the  match — 
sufficiently  disclosed  my  identity.  It  was  evidence 
enough  to  hang  a  man.  Yet  it  was  not  a  difficult 
inference.  The  bushman's  feat  was  this:  that  as 
he  ran  he  had  caught  sight  of  the  stub  of  the  match 
and  the  flakes  of  tobacco. 

After  that  he  paused  once  more  to  say  that  I  had 
at  that  point  "made  a  note  in  the  little  book."  I 
did  not  recall  the  circumstance.  It  was,  at  any 
rate,  my  custom  to  make  jottings  secretly.  And, 
moreover,  I  had  not  walked  with  the  bushman  to 
the  crest  of  the  hill.  He  had  been  far  ahead.  How 
then  should  he  be  aware  that  I  had  at  any  time 
"made  a  note  in  the  little  book"?  My  eyes  could 
discover  no  indication  of  the  fact.  But  it  was  no 
great  myster>'.  Some  scattered  chips  of  cedar, 
which  I  had  failed  to  detect,  disclosed  that  a  pencil 
had  there  been  pointed.  That  the  pencil  had  been 
employed  was  an  inevitable  inference.  It  was  all 
so  very  obvious,  indeed,  that  the  presence  of  the 
cedar  chips  thereabouts  should  in  the  first  instance 
have  been  instantly  inferred  from  the  bushman's 
remark.  In  all  this,  it  will  be  noted,  the  inferences 
were  easily  drawn.  Yet  to  infer  immediately  was 
something  of  an  achievement.  And  to  pick  up  these 
obscure  indications  in  swiftly  passing  was  an  ex- 
traordinary triumph  of  observation. 

"These  'ere  tracks,"  said  the  bushman,  as  we  re- 
sumed our  way,  "is  all  my  tracks." 

Among  the  evidences  this  man  was  following,  the 
mark  of  a  heel  or  toe  would  have  been  eloquent — to 
say  nothirig  of  its  prolixity — as  compared  with  what 

80 


IN   TUZ    DRYLANDS 

confronted  him.  But  there  were  no  imprints.  There 
was  nothing  whatsoever  cxce{)t  here  and  there  a  dis- 
lodged stone  and  here  and  there  a  broken  twig.  It 
is  obvious  that  a  freshly  disturbed  stone  indicates 
surely  enough  the  track  of  a  man  in  a  land  in  which 
no  considerable  beasts  can  be  imagined  to  have  trav- 
ersed. That  it  should  disclose  the  identity  of.  the 
passenger  is  quite  as  obviously  out  of  the  question. 
I  was  not  aware  that  I  was  in  the  habit  of  disturbing 
the  earth  in  a  peculiar  way.  Nor  could  I  conceive 
that  the  Artist  was  accustomed  to  set  his  foot  on  a 
twig  in  a  fashion  to  betray  him  as  the  author  of  the 
fracture.  Nor  could  I  observe  that  in  his  progress 
the  bushman  himself  dislodged  the  stones  in  a  man- 
ner so  singular  that  he  could  confidently  recognize 
the  work  of  his  toe  as  his  own. 

It  was  a  mystery'  of  the  Australian  bush.  I  made 
haste  to  solve  it. 

"How  do  you  know?"  I  demanded. 

"I  made  'cm!"  he  scoffed.  "Thiuk  I  aren't  got 
sense  enough  to  know  my  c  on  tracks?" 

In  a  baffled  attempt  to  reach  the  center  of  the 
continent,  one  of  the  first  explorers,  being  forced 
long  ago  to  summer  in  this  selfsame  latitude — much 
as  an  Arctic  explorer  winters  on  his  ground — found 
far  to  the  cast  of  where  we  journeyed  a  shade  tem- 
perature of  132°,  which  rose  in  the  sun  to  157**. 
The  mean  temperature  for  January,  in  that  situa- 
tion and  exceptional  season,  was  104°  in  the  shade. 
"The  ground  was  thoroughly  heated  to  a  depth  of 
three  or  four  feet,"  he  records;  "and  the  tremen- 
dous heat  had  parched  all  vegetation.  Under  its 
effects  every  screw  in  our  boxes  had  been  drawn. 

8i 


if  <i 

II 


t 


.\  '■■ 


\h 


'^It 


'M 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

Horn  handles  and  combs  were  split  into  fine  lam- 
inae. The  lead  dropped  out  of  our  pencils.  Our 
hair,  as  well  as  the  sheep's  wool,  ceased  to 
grow,  and  our  nails  became  brittle  as  glass.  The 
flour  lost  more  than  eight  per  cent,  of  its  original 
weight.  We  were  obliged  to  bury  our  wax  candles. 
We  found  it  difficult  to  write  or  draw,  so  rapidly  did 
the  fluid  dry  in  our  pens  and  brushes." 

Truly  a  shriveled  and  terrible  world  to  journey 
through ! 

It  was  now  Christmas  weather.  We  were  not 
much  more  than  a  fortnight  into  January.  It  was, 
therefore,  hot  and  dry.  The  land  was  at  its  worst. 
With  a  previous  experience  on  the  gold-fields  as  a 
basis  of  approximation  we  made  sure  that  the  tem- 
perature was  reaching  for  120°  in  the  shade  and  would 
triumphantly  achieve  it  before  the  day  was  out. 
Yet  life  was  far  better  than  tolerable.  Though  the 
sun  blistered — blistered  quick  and  sure  and  pain- 
fully as  a  mustard-plaster — it  did  not  strike  any 
traveler  down.  Coming  out  through  the  Indian 
Ocean,  we  had  been  told  of  a  young  gentleman  who 
had  sacrificed  his  life  in  a  supererogation  of  gallantrj' 
by  raising  his  helmet  in  farewell  to  a  lady  at  the 
wharves  of  Colombo.  In  the  humid  tropics  fear  of 
the  sun  is  instinctive.  But  here  in  this  dry  open 
the  sun  showed  no  grave  menace.  And  we  were 
not  oppressed.  That  day  we  drew  breath  with  ease 
and  satisfaction.  If  we  were  not  excessively  ex- 
hilarated by  the  quality  of  the  weather,  we  were  at 
least  greatly  amused. 

All  at  once  a  diminutive  whirlwind  took  life  under 
our  very  feet  and  went  swishing  and  swirling  to  the 
east. 

8a 


'  n 


IN   THE    DRYLANDS 


•'What's  that?"  cried  the  Artist,  astounded. 

It  might  have  been  a  partridge  whirring  to  new 
cover. 

"A  little  willy-willy,"  said  the  bushman. 

It  was  a  singular  phenomenon.  Its  force  and 
activity  were  amazing;  and  the  noise  it  made— the 
swish  and  hum  and  crackle  of  it — astonished  us  no 
less.  We  watched  its  erratic  course.  Its  outline 
was  definite.  Its  path  no  man  could  guess.  And 
it  moved  swiftly,  only  occasionally  stopping  in  in- 
decision to  spin  like  a  top.  It  darted,  it  swerved, 
it  circled.  Had  it  returned  upon  its  tracks — and 
there  was  no  certainty  that  it  would  not  immediately 
do  so — we  should  have  taken  to  our  heels!  It  was 
so  visible  and  small  that,  having  short  warning,  we 
might  have  leaped  aside  and  escaped.  And  a  man 
would  earnestly  desire  to  elude  it.  It  had  a  fear- 
some violence:  it  caught  up  the  twigs,  it  scattered 
the  pebbles,  it  tore  at  the  scrub,  it  gathered  a  cloud 
of  dust.     When  st  it    anished,  a  thick  red  mist, 

high  in  the  air,  v  .aughed  heartily  at  this  comical 
little  six-foot  cyclone,  as  we  were  then  dispf  ^  to 
regard  it. 

Traveling  subsequently  in  the  midst  of  a  host  ui 
these  small  winds,  we  had  no  laughter  left. 

Precisely  speaking,  the  willy-willies  are  those  de- 
structive cyclones  which  originate  in  the  ocean  to 
the  north  of  the  continent  and,  blowing  to  the  south- 
west, fall  heavily  on  the  northerly  Western  Australian 
coast  from  December  to  March.  Off  Ninety  Mile 
Beach,  near  Broome,  the  pearl-fishers  call  them  Co(  •- 
eyed  Bobs.  Some  years  ago  two  visitations  of  ■  ic 
willy-willies  sent  sixty  luggers  to  the  bottom  and  ac- 
counted for  the  disappearance  of  three  hundred  men 

83 


m! 


'     i  1 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

and  more.  It  is  now  the  custom  of  the  pearlers  to 
lie  discreetly  in  harbor  during  the  willy-willy  season. 
If,  however,  the  great  willy-willy,  instead  of  follow- 
ing the  coast  hne  in  a  southerly  direction,  deviates 
to  the  west,  as  sometimes  happens,  it  crosses  the 
continent  to  the  Great  Australian  Bight,  on  tnc  south 
coast,  and  its  course  is  marked  by  torrential  rains. 
A  fall  of  as  much  as  twenty-nine  and  one  half  inches 
has  been  recorded.  All  the  drylands— where,  too, 
we  traveled— are  in  this  way  sometimes  refreshed. 


1? 


!i 


fl 


I 

\ 


» 


XIV 

THE   SWAGMAN's   STORY 


RETREATING  westward,  wc  were  presently  con- 
fronted from  the  tnink  of  a  gnrirled  dead  tree 
by  a  singular  wayside  sign-board.  I<  announcea  the 
proximity  of  a  public-house,  three  miles  distant  into 
the  bush,  and  bade  all  wise  travelers  leave  the  road 
and  seek  entertainment  for  themselves  and  beasts 
in  that  direction,  to  live  and  let  live  being  the  true 
policy  of  the  establishment.  So  quaint  was  the 
flavor  of  this,  and  so  astonishingly  out  of  the  way 
was  the  situation  of  the  inn,  that  we  were  at  once 
enlisted  to  visit  it.  Having  in  lively  expectation 
accomplished  these  slow  miles,  we  were  dashed  to 
find  the  tavern-keeper  absconded  and  his  house 
closed  by  the  sheriff  and  fallen  into  ghostly  dis- 
repair. We  were  deeply  chagrined,  indeed,  for  here 
was  a  rarely  mysterious  tavern,  drearily  alone  and 
remote  in  this  sand  and  scnib — no  half-way  house, 
but  the  lost  dwelling  of  these  parts;  and  we  won- 
dered what  manner  of  rascal  had  kept  the  i)lace, 
what  peculiar  villainy  he  had  practised,  what  strange 
variety  of  patronage  he  had  drawn  from  the  waste. 
No  highwaymen  were  riding  the  country — nor  had 
ever  ridden  the  country- — to  stimulate  the  imagina- 
tion concerning  this  forsaken  inn.     Its  secrets  were 

85 


i^ 


m 


III 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 


t\  • 


not  those  of  a  romantic  rascality — of  nothing  but  the 
sordid  villainy  of  foully  robbing  drunken  travelers 
of  their  gold.  Vile  trajis  these  are — these  lonely  inns 
of  the  remote  Australian  back-blocks. 

On  our  way  back  to  the  trail  we  encountered  a 
hairy,  dusty,  ragged  fellow  jjcdaling  a  bicycle  through 
the  scrub,  a  swag  on  his  back.  He  was  all  in  a  lather 
with  the  labor  of  his  haste.  \v'^hether  he  was  miner, 
prospector,  cattle-man,  or  sundowner  (tramp),  there 
was  no  telling.  At  any  rate,  he  was  riding  for  liquor, 
as  he  was  (}uitc  frank  to  say,  and  fast  going  mad  for 
it.  It  was  "a  case  of  the  dry  horrors"  with  him 
(said  he);  and  he  was  vastly  disgruntled  with  our 
news  that  the  tavern  was  closed  up.  Perking  up, 
however,  in  our  company,  he  seemed  in  no  bad  way, 
after  all,  and  presently  told  us,  as  we  went  along, 
that  some  days  before,  travchng  the  edge  of  the 
"nigger  eountr>'"  to  the  north,  he  had  fallen  in 
with  a  roving  band  of  gins  (blackwomen),  with  whom 
he  had  enjoyed  an  astonishment  which  still  kept  him 
laughing.  What  these  savage  women  were  about, 
wandering  the  country  without  men,  far  from  their 
tribe,  he  could  not  discover;  but  as  they  were 
daubed  with  clay  he  concluded  that  they  were 
mou  ning  some  death.  What  amused  him  was  this: 
that  as  he  rode  near  he  was  to  his  dumfounded 
amazement  addressed  in  lackadaisical  English  by  a 
young  woman  (he  vowed)  who  was  not  only  the  dir- 
tiest, but  quite  the  nudest  and  most  primitively 
unconcerneil  of  all  the  chocolate  "mob." 

"Really,"  .she  drawknl,  "don't  you  find  the 
weather  rather  oi)i)re.ssive"f" 

At  this  the  swagman  blasjjhemed  his  surprise. 

"If  you  were  to  address  me  in  French,"  said  the 

86 


THE   SWAGMAN'S   STORY 

young  woman,  with  sweeping  dignity,  "I  should  have 
no  difficulty  in  comprehending  you." 

It  turned  out  that  this  aboriginal  maiden  had,  ac- 
cording to  her  story,  been  reared  from  childhood  by 
a  lady  of  Adelaide — that  she  had  reverted  to  the 
bush  and  was  then  with  her  tribe.  Whether  for 
good  and  all  she  did  not  know:  she  might  return  to 
the  lady  some  day — to  play  the  piano.  And  she 
tittered  like  a  school-girl  (said  the  swagman);  and 
she  chaffed  and  giggled  and  chattered  in  the  most 
flirtatious  manner  of  the  settlements,  not  in  the  least 
perturbed,  moreover,  being  now  in  the  bush,  by  the 
shocking  fact  that  she  was  in  the  garb  of  the  bush. 
Now  this  was  the  swagman's  tale.  It  is  not  mine. 
But  there  is  no  great  reason  to  doubt  it.  It  seems 
that  aboriginals  of  both  se.xcs,  employed  in  the  towns 
— the  employment  of  aboriginal  women  is  rigorously 
restricted  by  the  government — must  jxTiodically 
return  to  the  bu.sh.  They  remain  content  for  a 
time,  sufficient  servants,  in  some  cases,  if  lazy.  And 
then  the  inevitable  interval:  off  they  scamper,  with- 
out warning;  and  they  strip  themselves  of  the  last 
clogging  connection  with  civilization,  and  cache  their 
garments  against  the  time  of  return,  and  nni  wild 
to  their  .satisfaction,  returning,  by  and  by,  as  if 
they  had  not  been  absent  at  all.  Ever>'where  on 
the  edge  of  the  wild  lands  tales  are  told  like  the 
swagman's  stor>'  of  the  tittering  ward  of  the  good 
lady  of  Adelaide — told  with  scorn  of  this  jihilan- 
thropic  endeavor. 

"Just  beasts,"  .said  the  .swagman. 

And  he  abandoned  our  slow  course,  being  in  mad 
haste,  as  he  confessed,  to  ease  his  pitiable  state  in 
the  first  pubUc-house  he  could  manage  to  discover. 
7 


''! 


II 


I 


XV 


OUTCAST 


ONE  day  \vc  rode  into  a  wide  reach  of  primeval 
bush  which  not  even  the  wretched  gatherers  of 
sandahvood  had  combed  for  the  dead  branches  of 
their  meager  hving.  From  a  rise  of  t're  land — slowly- 
down  and  far  away — it  was  like  a  rnc.  t  jungle,  a  low, 
impenetrable  tangle;  but  it  thinned,  as  we  entered, 
into  an  open  growth  of  slender,  delicately  lovely  and 
diminutive  trees,  springing  in  blithe  health  from  the 
sandy  earth,  many  of  them  peculiar  in  the  Australian 
world,  like  the  kangaroo— she-oaks  (said  the  bush- 
man)  and  gimlet-trees,  salmon  gum,  mulga,  tea- 
trees,  thorny  spinnifcx,  and  succulent  sage-bush.  A 
stretch  of  dry,  blazing  days,  intolerable  to  an  Ameri- 
can forest,  had  not  in  the  least  diminished  the  spirit 
of  this  hardy  bush.  Not  a  leaf  was  wilted,  that  we 
could  see,  nor  did  any  branch  droop.  These  pretty 
midgets  were  as  fresh  and  clean  and  fat  with  their 
small  nourishment  as  from  the  rain  of  an  abun- 
dant yesterday.  We  saw  no  ailing  tree,  but  only  the 
green  shades  of  good  health — a  curious  variety  of 
color,  against  the  red  and  blue  of  the  world,  deepen- 
ing from  a  tinge  of  gray  to  the  darkest  shade  of 
green.  Yet  there  were  many  gaunt  dead  mingled 
with  the  quick,  which  seemed  to  have  died  of  sheer 

88 


OUTCAST 


old  age — curly,  gnarled  dwarfs,  bleached  white,  so 
old  that  we  ached  to  contemplate  their  length  of 
days,  striving  in  this  mean  desert  land. 

In  the  thin  shade  of  a  salmon-gum  we  rested  for 
an  hour  with  a  bushman  who  had  a  hut  in  the  scrub 
on  the  edge  of  the  salt-lands  and  was  then  trudging 
to  a  broken  mining  town  of  the  neighborhood  for  a 
sack  of  flour.  He  lived  with  the  blacks  (said  he) — 
a  condition  so  degraded  in  Australia  that  few  men 
challenge  its  obloquy — and  was  even  married  with 
them  according  to  their  customs  and  his  own.  A 
red-bearded,  vacant  fellow  in  filthy  tweed,  he  was 
a  disgusting  creature,  without  sensibility — thus 
fallen  too  low  for  pity.  He  was  outcast.  What 
future  he  had  lay  with  the  bestial  savages  in  the  in- 
ferno of  sun  and  sand  beyond  the  frontier.  And 
these  savage  brothers — there  had  been  some  bloody 
heathen  ceremony  of  initiation  to  tribe  and  family — 
he  now  c"rstu  tor  mistmsting  him.  Brothers?  Ha, 
ha!  Brothci  were  they?  No  fear!  They  would 
tell  a  white  man  precious  little  (he  sneered)  of  their 
mysteries.  How  much  would  a  blackfcllow  tell  a 
white  man  about  magic?  Huh?  Haw,  haw!  And 
how  about  message-sticks?  How  much  would  a 
blackfcllow  tell  a  white  man  about  message-sticks? 
They'd  he — oh  yes,  they'd  lie!  And  from  all  this 
we  made  out  that  our  outcast  was  newly  re- 
turned from  a  protracted  visitation  with  his  sav- 
ages and  was  in  the  worst  of  humor  with  his  wel- 
come. 

"Out  back,"  he  conii)laincd,  sullenly,  indicating 
the  desolation  to  the  east  with  a  petulant  sweep, 
"thev  got  everything  fixed." 

"Who?" 

89 


m 


li 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 


>' 


"Who?" 
men!" 


he    echoed.     "Why,    the    dashed    old 


Specifically  what? 

"It's  all  fixed  to  keep  the  old  men  comfortable," 
said  he.     "What's  right  and  what's  wrong,  I  mean. 
It's  mostly  religion— magic.     I  reckon  their  religion 
was  made  by  old  men.     If  I  was  an  old  man  I'd 
make  one  just  like  it  if  I  could.     Don't  you  reckon 
that  what's  right  and  what's  wrong  depends  on  who 
has  the  power  to  say  so?    I  do.     I'm  a  Socialist. 
Take  grub.     Grub's  a  good  example.     Grub's  scarce 
with  the  blackfcUows,  isn't  it?     Well,  the  old  men 
get  the  best  of  the  grub.     That's  law— that 's  religion . 
It's  one  of  the  Ten  Commandments.     A  young  fel- 
low can't  cat  a  nice  big  snake.     It  wouldn't  be  re- 
ligious.    He's  got  to  t."i'c  that  snake  to  his  father- 
in-law.     Why?     Becau.v;    a    snake's    f^ood.     And 
there's  a  whole  lot  of  ot'icr  good  things  that  a  young 
fellow  can't  cat.     He  can't  eat  anything  at  all  that's 
nourishing  and  real  fat  and  juicy.     He  can't  cat  a 
lizard.     If  he  ate  a  lizard  it  would  be  just  the  same 
as  crime— and  that's  the  same  as  sin,  isn't  it?    May- 
be he  'vouldn't  go  to  hell  for  it;    but  he'd  ^v/  hell 
fast  enough,  if  they  caught  him  at  it.     If  they  didn't 
catch  him?     Oh,  they've  got  that  fixed!     They  teach 
the  little  shavers  that  if  they  eat  lizards  they'll  swell 
up  and  bust.     And  it  works,  loo — just  about  as  well 
as  the  same  sort  of  thing  works  with  us.     You  see, 
they've  got  their  own  notions  of  right  and  wrong. 
But  their  notions  of  right  and  wrong  are  not  the 
same  as  our  notions  of  right  and  wrong.     And  that's 
queer.     Why  shouldn't  they  be?" 

There  was  an  interval  through  which  the  outcast 
bushman  heavily  pondered. 

90 


r 


OUTCAST 

"I  wonder  what  is  right,"  said  he,  perplexed, 
"and  what  is  wrong.' 

We  left  him  in  the  thin  shade  of  the  salmon-gum 
— doubtless  eontinuing  to  contemplate  this  grave 
problem.  And  we  inferred  that  he  had  been  pious- 
ly reared. 


\     I'M 

I 

i 


!  ' 


XVI 

A   WAYSIDE   INN 

IN  the  heat  of  a  mid-aftcmoon  we  came  to  a  broken 
mining  town.  In  its  brief  day  of  promise  it  had 
made  a  great  noise  in  the  Western  Australian  world. 
They  had  planned  it  large,  with  quick,  leaping  en- 
thusiasm, in  the  Western  Australian  way;  and, 
though  it  was  here  set  far  back  into  the  desert,  they 
would  surely  have  made  it  large,  with  Australian 
vigor  and  determination  to  thrive  big  and  powerful, 
had  the  earth  yielded  a  good  measure  of  its  first  en- 
couragement. Its  one  street,  up  the  broiling, deserted 
vista  of  which  the  bitter  red  dust  was  blowing,  was 
wide  enough  for  the  traffic  of  any  metropolis;  and 
the  disintegrating  skeleton  of  a  magnificent  boule- 
vard, concerned  with  high  courage  in  these  dry- 
lands, implied  a  splendid  vision  of  that  lovely  ma- 
turity to  which  the  town  had  never  attained.  The 
town  had  lived  fast  and  failed.  It  was  now  as  piti- 
able as  the  wreck  of  any  aspiration — as  any  young 
promise  which  has  broken  in  the  test  and  at  last 
got  past  the  time  when  faith  can  endure  to  contem- 
plate it.  The  people  had  vanished,  taking  their 
habitations  with  them,  in  the  gold-fields  manner,  to 
new  fields  of  promise.  They  had  not  left  much  to 
mark  the  site  of  their  brave  ambition.    A  hot,  list- 

92 


» 


A    WAYSIDE    INN 


less  group  of  corrugated-iron  dwellings  remained — a 
public-house,  too,  and  a  spick-and-span  police-station 
and  a  sad  little  graveyard. 

A  fat  landlady,  performing  the  office  of  barmaid, 
resolutely  interrupted  our  way  to  the  public  bar  and 
bade  us  into  the  parlor,  which  was  better  suited  (she 
said)  to  our  quality.  In  this  her  concern  was  most 
anxious.  It  was  apparent  from  her  air  of  indulgent 
consideration  that,  ])erceiving  us  to  be  strangers,  she 
had  with  great  good  nature  made  haste  to  rescue 
us  from  a  breach  of  gentle  behavior.  It  seems  that, 
remote  as  this  far  country'  is  from  the  usages  of 
Home,  one  is  still  expected  to  choose  one's  pot- 
house company  with  self-respect  and  decent  pre- 
cision. And  a  variety  of  opportunity  is  frequently 
afforded — bars  outer,  middle,  inner  and  parlor.  No 
thirsty  man  need  stray  from  his  established  station: 
should  he  drop  into  company  beneath  him,  he  may 
blame  himself;  and  should  he  intrude  among  his 
betters,  let  him  take  the  scowling  consequences! 
The  parlor  is,  of  course,  the  resort  of  unquestioned 
gentility;  but  precisely  what  distinctions  admit  a 
patron  to  the  qualified  respectability  of  the  inner 
bar,  and  what  lack  of  quality  banishes  him  to  the 
outer,  I  could  not  by  any  means  make  out.  The 
moral  of  it  all,  though  it  be  derived  from  nothing 
better  than  a  pot-house  arrangement  and  the  solici- 
tude of  a  mining-town  landlady,  is  broad :  the  Aus- 
tralians still  live  astonishingly  close  to  the  caste 
traditions  of  Home. 

Our  landlady  was  a  rippling,  genial  body,  flushed 
and  smiling  with  intimate  and  honest  hospitality, 
and  did  what  she  could  to  refresh  us  according  to 
our  temperate  humor.     This  was  not  much.     She 

93 


-    1 
t 

"A  • 


M 


':i 


I ' 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

had  no  ice:    no  ice  could  survive  the  red-hot  jour- 
ney to  that  town;    and  as  for  the  beverages  of  dis- 
cretion—she laughed  long  to  shame  us  from  such 
callow  and  injurious  habits.     Her  parlor  was  dark- 
ened—a grateful  relief  from  the  blistering  agony  of 
the  white  light  of  day;  and  it  was  happily  separated 
from  the  public-room  by  nothing  more  than  a  stretch 
of  bar  and  the  small  difference  between  a  sixpence 
and  shilling  per  glass  of  tipple— drawn  from  the 
same  cask.     Here  we  fell  in  amiable  conversation 
with  a  casual  miner  who  had  dropped  in  from  some 
desperate  little  show  (mine)  of  his  for  the  refresh- 
ment of  a  glass  of  lukewarm  ale.     He  was  not  a 
I^arlor  patron— in  appearance  not  at  all  of  parlor 
quality— being  frowsy,  plastered,  and  speckled  with 
dried  mud,  a  little  the  worse  of  life.     From  the  public- 
room  he  talked  across  to  the  shadows  where  we  sat 
in    rather    embarrassed    superiority, — not    used    to 
these  accepted  distinctions;  and  he  ran  on  in  a  free, 
lively  fashion,  his  accent  and  vernacular  more  near- 
ly resembling  those  of  an  Englishman,  it  seemed, 
than  they  approached  the  Cockney  speech  of  the 
Australian  I  ack-blocks. 

"It  i$  remarkable,"  he  agreed,  at  last.  "I  can't 
account  for  it." 

Our  mystification  had  to  do  with  the  men  who 
perish  of  thirst.  They  strip  themselves,  poor  wretches, 
in  their  desperate  wanderings;  ar  "  stripped  to  the 
skin  the  trackers  find  them— stark  naked.their  hands 
bloody  with  digging,  their  eyes  wide  open  and  white, 
their  tongues  swollen  clean  out  of  their  mouths. 
Nor  are  these  deaths  occasional.  They  are  frequent. 
It  is  a  dry  land— all  these  wilderness  miles.  No 
rivers  water  it.     There  are  no  oases.     A  rainfall 

94 


'1  i 


;i 


A    WAYSIDE    INN 

vanishes  like  an  illusion.  Travelers  beyond  the 
tanks  venture  recklessly.  They  must  chance  the 
rainfall ;  and  failing  the  rare  rains,  they  must  find 
water  in  soaks  and  gnamma-holes  or  perish  in  their 
tracks— the  soak  being  a  basin  scooped  in  the  sand 
at  the  base  of  a  granite  rock,  and  the  gnamma-hole 
a  great  cavicy  in  the  granite,  from  which  the  last 
rain  has  not  evaporated.  And  all  the  water  is  il- 
lusive: it  fails  or  changes  place— being  here  and 
there  or  not  at  all— as  the  seasons  run.  A  punctured 
water-bag  is  sentence  of  death.  Many  a  man,  lost 
alone,  has  died  alone,  cursing  a  thom— convicts  of 
the  old  days,  escaping  without  hope  over  the  desert 
to  the  settlements  of  South  Australia,  and  prospectors 
of  the  days  of  the  ntsh,  pushing  the  search  beyond 
the  boundaries  of  caut  ion .  Travelers  return  in .?  from 
the  deserts— the  prospectors  of  these  better-informed 
days- casually  report  the  skeletons. 

It  is  all  true  of  the  country  we  rode— these  worst 
Australian  lands. 

"A  chap  got  lost  out  here  in  the  early  days,"  the 
miner  went  on.  "Came  out  from  Home,  you  know, 
and  struck  an  everlasting  fortune  at  Kalgoorlie. 
Wild  times— those  days.  My  word!  I  saw  the 
Hand-to-Mouth  squandered.  They  sold  that  show 
to  an  English  syndicate  for  £30,000  and  dissipated 
every  bally  shilling  before  they  quit.  Everything 
free  to  everybody- and  ever>'  barmaid  a  harj)y 
and  ever\'  publican  a  leech.  It  didn't  take  long. 
And  the  Australia.  They  were  so  hot  to  get  rid  of 
that  mine  that  they  paid  £1,200  for  cablegrams- 
expert  reports  and  all  that— before  the  deal  was 
losed  in  London;  and  there  wasn't  anything  too 
good  for  the  gold-fields  while  the  £24,000  held  out. 

95 


If! 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 


But  what  should  this  chap  I'm  teUing  you  about  do 
but  buy  a  musical  barmaid.  Fell  madly  in  love 
with  her,  you  know.  Took  her  to  London,  too. 
Well,  what  should  she  do,  when  he'd  knocked  down 
his  cash,  but  raise  the  fan-tans  and  throw  him  over. 
And  back  he  came  to  the  gold-fields  to  get  another 
fortune.  No  chance.  What  should  he  do  then  but 
take  to  the  bush?  Prospecting,  you  see.  We 
waited  a  decent  bit  and  tracked  him.  First  thing 
they  do,  when  they  go  mad,  you  know,  is  take  off 
their  boots.  But  we  couldn't  find  this  chap's  boots. 
We  found  his  hat,  his  jacket,  trousers,  shirt.  \vTien 
we  found  him  he  was  stripped — feet  all  cut  to  shreds 
and  his  boots  in  his  hand." 

"Dead?" 

"No  fear!  But  there  was  an  inch  of  big  black 
tongue  sticking  out  of  his  mouth,  poor  old  chap!" 


'\ 


l>. 


f !!  - 


r  •' 


XVII 
water! 


THESE  western  drylands  no  man  should  pene- 
trate distantly  and  alone  who  has  not  mastered 
the  last  subtleties  of  Australian  bushcraft.  A  Ca- 
nadian woodsman  would  find  nothing  in  his  ex- 
perience to  enlighten  him.  A  Nort?i  American  In- 
dian would  x>erish  of  ignorance.  A  Bedouin  of  the 
sandy  Arabian  deserts  would  in  any  dire  extremity 
die  helpless.  Australian  bushcraft  is  a  craft  pe- 
culiar to  the  Australian  bush.  It  concerns  itself  less 
with  killing  the  crawling  desert -life  for  food — and 
schooling  a  disgusted  stomach  to  entertain  it — than 
with  divining  the  whereabouts  of  water  in  a  land 
which  is  to  the  alien  vision  as  dry  as  a  brick  in  the 
sun.  A  black  tracker  (said  our  bushman)  once 
turned  in  contempt  from  the  corpse  of  a  man  who 
had  died  of  thirst.  He  had  no  pity:  he  spat  his  ab- 
horrence of  the  stupidity  of  this  dead  wretch.  The 
man  had  died  within  arm's-length  of  water — the 
moist  roots  of  some  small  desert  tree.  In  the  deserts 
to  the  northeast  of  us,  mid-continent,  when  sun  and 
dry  winds  suck  the  moisture  from  deep  in  the  ground 
and  all  the  world  runs  dry — the  soaks  and  gnamma- 
holes  and  most  secret  crevices  of  the  trees  and  rocks 
— the  aboriginals  draw  water  from  these  roots  by 

97 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

ciitlinji;  them  into  short  lengths  and  lettins:;  thorn 
dniin  drop  by  drop  into  a  wooden  bowl.  Hut  the 
worst  may  come  to  the  worst:  there  may  be  no 
"water  trees"— or  the  roots  may  shrivel  and  dry 
up. 

What  then? 

"Ah,  well,"  said  the  bushman,  "they  do  with 
what  thev  have." 

"What'/;aer  they?" 

"Ah      oil,  they  lick  the  dew  from  the  leaves  and 


I  / 


Failing  the  rains,  failing  soaks  and  gnamma-holes, 
failing  roots  and  the  morning's  dew,  the  aboriginal 
of  the  central  drylands  has  a  last  occasional  soune 
of  supply.  It  indicates  the  desperate  hard.shi])  of 
his  life  and  discloses  the  cjualily  of  his  cunning.  It 
is  related  by  a  celebrated  Australian  traveler  and 
anthropologist,  Baldwin  Spencer,  that,  having  come 
in  a  dry  season  to  a  dry  clay-pan,  bordered  with 
withered  shrubs,  his  comjjany  was  amazed  by  an  exhi- 
bit ion  of  aboriginal  craft  which  seems  to  have  been 
beyond  compare  in  any  savage  land.  There  was  no 
water — there  was  no  moisture — within  miles;  and  the 
clay  w.  s  baked  so  hard  that  to  be  penetrated  at  all  it 
must  be  broken  with  a  hatchet.  A  keen  nat  ive  guitlc 
presently  discerned  little  tracks  on  the  ground — 
faintest  indications  of  life,  a]:)parently,  like  obscure 
fossil  tracers— and,  having  hacked  into  the  clay  to 
the  depth  of  a  foot,  unearthed  "a  spherical  little 
chamber,  about  three  inclies  in  diameter,  in  whit-h 
lay  a  dirty  yellow  frog."  It  was  a  water-holding 
frog;  and  it  was  distended  with  its  supi)ly — a  store 
sufficient,  perhaps,  to  enable  it  to  survive  a  drought 
of  a  vear  and  a  half.     And  the  water  (says  the  an- 

98 


li 


I  ' 


i 


!i 


UN    Till-;    KlK.h    Ol     Till-;    l)R\l.V\U> 


i  / 


WATER! 

thrnpologist)  was  quite  pure  and  fresh.  Reing  hearti- 
ly sciucezed,  these  frogs  may  yield  a  saving  drought 
to  lost  and  ])erishing  travelers. 

"Find  a  nigger,"  said  our  bushinan,  when,  as  we 
nxle,  we  told  him  this  tale,  "and  you'll  get  water." 

What  if  the  aboriginal  were  olxlurate? 

"Ah,  well,  if  the  nigger  icon't  tell,"  the  bushman 
exi)lainetl,  "you  ro])e  him  by  the  neek  t(j  your  sad- 
dle. When  he  gets  thirsty  he'll  go  to  water  right 
enough!" 


In  the  baek-bloiks  of  central  Western  Australia, 
to  the  east  of  the  few  discouraged  lillle  goviTninent 
tanks  of  the  goM-lidds  country,  and,  indeed,  iti  the 
drylands  to  the  north  and  south  of  this,  there  are 
no  fixed,  fresh  wtlls,  genera11\'  deiu-ndable,  as  in  the 
African  and  Arabian  deserts;  and  conscciucntly 
there  are  no  (U"tenniiie(l  routt's  -if  travel,  like  the 
earavan-routcs  of  the  Sahara— no  main-travi'led 
ro:ids  from  ])<nnt  to  jxiint.  Nor  is  there  any  travel- 
ing back  and  forth.  It  is  a  wilderness.  It  would, 
however,  be  a  radi  traveler  who  tlareil  generalize 
concerning  so  vast  and  varii'd  a  domain-  a  million 
scjuare  miles.  The  drylands  which  we  rode  in  a 
mitlsummiT  drought  indicate  nothing  at  all  of  the 
finality  of  tin-  tropical  north;  nor  do  they  any  more 
him  at  the  forests  and  hills  and  gri-en  farms  of  the 
southwest  than  the  Arizona  wastes  imjtly  the  rich 
eorn-lamls  of  Kansas.  All  the  while,  all  Australia 
o\ir,  now  more  confidently  than  ever  l)efore.  the 
.M'ttlements  are  pushing  in  from  the  coast,  amazed 
to  discover  beneficent  areas  where  deserts  wen-  e.\- 
l)ccted-  jmshing  up  from  South  Australia,  down 
from    the   Northern  Territory,  doughtily  wotward 


^  .1 


il 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 


t  / 


.i 


from  Queensland  and  New  South  Wales;  but  here  in 
this  parched,  blazing  red  countr>%  baffled  by  the 
perilous  and  dry  monotony  of  the  land,  thv  y  seem 
long  ago  to  have  stopjxid  dismayed  and  never  to 
have  taken  heart  again. 

We  rode  a  litlli  with  a  nondescript  traveler, 
"Bothersome  chaps — the  blackfcllows,"  said  he. 
"You  can't  shoot  'em  down  offhand  any  more,  you 
know." 

"Was  there  ever — an  open  season?" 

"Ah,  yes,"  he  laughed. 

"Good  hunting?" 

He  ignored  this  ghastly  pleasantry.  "You've 
got  to  have  evidence  to  convict  a  blackfcllow,"  said 
he.  "And,  damn  'cm,"  he  exploded,  wrathfully, 
"they  know  it!" 

It  is  a  vacant  land — the  whole  raw,  wide  state. 
Within  a  radius  of  fifteen  miles  from  the  capital  city 
of  Perth,  in  the  fertile  and  established  southwestern 
country',  the  i)opu'ation  approaches  one  hundred 
thousand,  and  the  population  of  the  East  Coolgar- 
die  gold-fields,  of  which  the  good  city  of  Kalgoorlic 
is  the  center,  approaches  one  hundred  thousand: 
.so  that  what  remains  of  the  total  poinilation  of 
three  hundred  thousand,  subtracting  the  imijulu- 
tion  of  the  old  town  of  Albany  on  the  south  coast 
and  the  population  of  the  thriving  Gearldton  dis- 
trict on  the  middle  west  coast — roughly  a  remain- 
der of  eighty-five  thousand — i)eoples  what  is  left 
of  the  million  square  miles  of  territory'.  The  little 
towns  are  scattered  remotely — Wyndham,  in  the 
north,  for  cxami)le,  with  a  poi)ulation  of  one  hundred 
and  five,  two  thousand  miles  away,  as  one  travels 
by  camel  and  coach  and  sea,  and  Hall's  Creek,  where 

lOO 


WATER! 

sixty-three  whites  are  exiled  in  twenty-five  hundred 
miles  of  distance  and  many  weeks  of  time,  happily 
and  prosperously,  no  doubt,  and  in  the  good  health 
of  the  open.  Consequently  land  is  cheap  to  the 
settler — cheap  and  wide.  In  the  Kimberlcy  and 
northwest  divisions  pastoral  leases  may  be  had  of 
the  government  in  blocks  of  not  less  than  twenty 
thousand  acres  at  a  rental  of  icn  shillings  a  thousand 
acres  a  year — and  in  the  central  division,  too,  where 
we  rode. 

"What's  the  cheapest  land  in  the  state?"  we  in- 
quired of  an  old  prospector. 

"Thee  shillings,"  said  he.   "down  in  Eucla." 

"An  acre?" 

"O  Lord,  no!  A  thousand  acres!" 

"Any  good?" 

"Not  to  nic,"  he  lau^^hcd.  "I'm  a  miner." 


I' 


XVIII 


( / 


>'! 


A    PARM'.I.E    (H-    TWO    CAMI-LS 

WIIKN  WO  rode  out  imm  Cool^ardic  with  Jem- 
and  the  Aiist  raliaii,  my  own  camel  was  nn  aj^ed, 
f,'i-ave  eamel,  a  camel  of  discretion.  ])lcddin^'  recon- 
ciled and  almost  content,  havinj^  lonj;  a^o  learned 
the  sorr>-  lesson— like  a  n^.an  '^i>l  past  his  prime,  it 
seemed— that  it  docs  not  jirofit  a  beast  of  burden  to 
rebel:    that  it  is  expedient  rather  to  yield  with  an 
appearance  of  j;ood  lumior  to  the  inevitable  mastery 
than  to  be  switched  for  disol)edience  and  in  the  end 
be  ob1i;^ed  sullenly  to  endure  an  addition  of  bruises 
to  the  various  miseries  of  fate.     And  for  this  reason- 
able and  placid  si  rvice  of  his  master's  ctMnfort  my 
camel  was  rewartU'd,  ai-cordini.^  to  the  custom,  with 
words  of  ai)probatif)n.     Australian  bred  thou^'h  he 
was.   and  of  descent  from   the  camels  of  India,   a 
strain  which  the  Hedouins  despise,  he  was  the  best 
camel  (said  I)  that  ever  I  rode.     Of  ati  obsctiuious 
habit,  perhaps,  yielding  to  command  with  disciuiet- 
ing  little  shivers  of  ai)])rehension,   and   c-autiously 
husbanding  his  spci^d  (for  exercise  in  seasons  of  need, 
no  doubt),  his  acciuiesccnce  and  the  ease  of  his  gait 
were  not  to  be  shamed  even  by  the  fabulous  accom- 
plishments of  the  camels  of  the  stony  wastes  to  the 
east  of  Damascus  and  of  the  sandy  Arabian  deserts. 

I03 


A    PARABLE   OF   TWO   CAMELS 


And  so  warm  was  his  reward  of  praise  that,  liad  he 
been  a  human  servant  of  the  pleasures  of  the  day 
he  would  have  touched  his  cap  with  a  "Thank  you, 
sir!"  and  grinned  his  satisfaction  with  the  distin- 
guished patronage. 

Life  had  not  taught  the  Artist's  half-broken  young 
beast  any  salutary  wisdom.  His  complaints  wearied 
us  of  the  road.  That  he  made  haste  when  he  was 
desired  to  be  slack,  loitering  only  when  there  was 
need  of  expedition,  amused  our  first  hilarious  humor. 
We  were  not  gravely  annoyed,  indeed,  when  he  be- 
gan with  frequency  to  bolt— though  we  were  some- 
what concerned,  it  is  true,  for  the  bones  oi  his  de- 
lighted rider;  nor  were  we  in  the  least  dismayed 
when  he  practised  the  device  of  limply  flopping  to 
his  knees  in  an  explosion  of  bitter  protest  against 
the  labor  of  his  day.  We  were  considerate,  truly. 
Had  this  young  beast  bolted  with  spirited  determina- 
tion, dismounting  the  Artist  unhurt,  and  triumph- 
antly vanishing  to  the  freedom  of  the  scrub  in  the 
dust  of  his  speed  and  rebellion,  we  should  have  ad- 
mired his  cnten)rise  and  resolution;  and  had  he 
stayed  flat  on  his  belly  until  we  had  beaten  him  to 
death,  a  martyr  to  his  convictions,  we  sliouKI  luive 
buried  him  with  respect  and  remetnbered  liim  for 
ever.  But  a  harrowing  tumult  of  complaint  meas- 
ured his  courage;  he  submitted  to  the  first  touch  of 
the  whip,  roaring  like  a  beast  with  a  treacherous 
death-wound,  atul  he  yielded  with  a  stent  and  a 
.squeal  of  friglit  to  tliat  pinch  of  the  nostrils,  shaq) 
enough,  no  doubt,  which,  in  the  Australian  way  of 
riding  a  camel,  can  be  accompHsheil  with  a  twitch 
of  the  reins. 

It  should  have  been  good  riding  for  all  of  us.     Our 

8  103 


t ' 


.|! 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

journey  was  not  many  miles  through  the  sandy  bush 
that  day.     Road  and  weather  were  amiable.     The 
world  we  traveled  was  a  far-away,  sinj^ular  world, 
all  of  a  delieate  beauty,  too— the  wind  and  scrub 
and  brilliant  color  and  wide  dr>-  spaces.     Truly  the 
many  engaginj?  aspects  of  the  sunlit  Australian  wil- 
derness, notwithstanding  the  heat  and  drought  and 
blistering  white  light  of  it,  were  in  the  way  to  charm 
our  interest.     Yet  the  Artist's  young  camel  ^polled 
the  fresh  delights  of  that  appealing  road  by  steadily 
communicating   his   childish   grief  and  occasionally 
exasperating  us  to  crude  outbursts  of  wrath.     On 
he  lumbered,  groaning,  whimpering,  l)ellowing,  sob- 
bing, every  dreary  step  of  the  way,  thus  establishhig 
our  reputation  for  savage  cruelty,  if  such  a  thing 
could  be,  with  all  the  birds  and  beasts  of  the  bush 
for  miles  in  every  direction.     And  we  must  helplessly 
tolerate  his  misbehavior.     There  was  no  mastering 
him;    he  was  like  a  child  in  a  temper— bawling  so 
wantonly,  with  such  obstinate  uproar,  that  at  times 
wc  fancied  a  buckle  must  be  prodding  him  some- 
where,   and   comi)assionately   searched   to   see.     In 
the  way  of  a  wilful  child  he  did  all  that  he  could  to 
make  us  wretched— short  of  holding  his  breath  and 
turning  black  in  the  face. 

When  it  came  time  to  dismount  for  the  day  wc 
were  glad  to  relieve  this  camel  of  the  burden  that 
so  mightily  injured  his  liberty— and  gratefully  will- 
ing to  leave  him  to  sulk  in  a  miserable  silence. 

"I  predict  for  that  camel,"  said  I,  standing  off 
to  regard  him,  "a  future  of  great  n)iser>'." 

"Which?"  said  Jerr>',  whose  camels  these  were. 
"That  camel?     No  fear!" 
"Truly,  he  pities  himself!" 

104 


J 


A    PARABLE   OF    TWO   CAMELS 

Jerry  chuckled. 

"Himself  alone,"  I  added. 

"G'wan!"  says  Jerry,  sobering.  "That's  a  first- 
cla.ss  young  camel." 

"He  is  your  camel,"  I  replied,  "and  doubtless 
you  love  him." 

"He'll  do  his  n-ork,  right  enough,  when  he  grows 
into  it." 

"Never  a  cheerful  day  of  it!" 

"Ah,  well,  he'll  Joii.." 

"It  may  be  true,"  I  answered,  "that  he  will  do 
as  much  of  his  work  as  he  must  for  those  who  will 
brutally  command  him.  Now  I  know  about  young 
camels.  And  this  young  camel  has  certain  signifi- 
cant defects.  He  cherishes  his  own  way  above  the 
respect  of  others  and  his  own  pride  in  himself;  but 
he  has  neither  the  courage  to  take  his  own  way, 
whatever  the  cost,  nor  the  wisdom  to  yield  to  his 
master,  gathering  what  measure  of  happiness  he 
can  from  the  work  that  he  must  do  and  the  leisure 
it  allows  him.  Observe  that  he  sulks.  Always  he 
will  sulk.  No  sooner  will  he  have  recovered  from 
sulking  because  he  has  had  to  do  the  work  of  to-day 
than  he  will  begin  to  sulk  again  because  he  must  do 
the  work  of  to-morrow.  And  that  is  not  the  worst. 
Did  you  not  remark  on  the  road  that  when  his  cow- 
ardly rage  did  not  move  us  he  whimpered  in  a  shame- 
lessly loud  and  obstinate  way  whilst  yet  he  per- 
formed his  task?  What  pride  had  he?  What 
consideration?  And  what  was  his  best  measure 
against  obedience?  This  young  camel  appeals  to 
the  compassion  of  a  world  which  has  only  contcmj)t 
for  that  weakness  in  a  camel.  To  gain  his  own  way 
he  will  even  practise  with  wicked  cunning  upon  his 

los 


1/ 


;f 


;r! 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

own  master's  pity.  It  is  a  mortal  defect  in  a  young 
camel.  He  has  had  a  wretched  day  of  it.  I  am 
confident  that  a  future  of  great  misery  awaits  him. 
Your  young  camel  is  a  most  unfortunate  and  con- 
temptible young  ca:  lel." 

At  the  end  of  this  long  rigmarole  poor  Jerry  was 
staring.     He  had  found  no  parable  in  it. 

"He's  only  a  camel!"  he  protested. 

"If  I  owned  that  camel,  and  loved  him,"  said  I, 
"I  would  shoot  him  for  his  own  sake." 

It  is  not  to  be  understood  that  camels  arc  com- 
monly used  in  all  parts  of  Australia.    A  camel  in 
the  streets  of  Melbourne  or  Sydney  would  doubtless 
create  as  much  astonished  amusement  as  an  Alaskan 
reindeer  on  Broadway.     In  1866  camels  were  first 
imported  for  general  service  from  India.     It  was  a 
happy  experiment.    A  herd  of  more  than  six  hun- 
dred arrived  with  their  Afghan  masters  in   1884. 
They  thrived.     Indeed,  they  made  a  distinguished 
success  of  life  in  the  colonies.    It  was  to  be  expected. 
Aliens  in  Australia  seem  never  to  fail  of  good  health 
and  increase.     It  is  estimated  that  there  are  now 
ten  thousand  camels  at  labor  in  the  Commonwealth. 
This  is  in  the  far-away  dr>'  back-blocks.     An  Aus- 
tralian loves  a  horse  and  respects  the  sturdy  worth 
of  a  bullock;   he  regards  a  camel,  however,  with  a 
tolerant  sort  of  approbation,  and  will  not  t.  iploy 
so  outlandish  and  i)erverse  a  beast  except  to  the 
great  advantage  of  his  needs.     The  Australian  camel 
is  immensely  serviceable  in  his  limited  sphere.     A 
hearty  bull  will  carr>^  a  load  of  eight  hundred  pounds 
through  long  marches,  thriving  meanwhile  where  a 
horse  would  perish;   and  it  is  recorded  that  a  train 

106 


A    PARABLE   OF   TWO   CAMELS 

of  Australian-bred  camels  went  a  march  of  twenty- 
four  days  without  water.  They  serve  the  pros- 
pectors, the  explorers,  some  departments  of  the 
government,  the  remoter  settlers,  and  the  police  of 
the  drylands.  The  Afghan  camel-man — though  he 
is  still  often  encountered,  and  was  in  the  beginning 
the  haughty  custodian  of  all  the  camel  lore  of  the 
colony — is  no  longer  necessary  to  the  advantageous 
breeding  and  employment  of  camels. 

"We  used  to  think,"  Jerry  chuckled,  "that  we 
couldn't  get  along  without  the  'Ghans." 

"Surely  they  knew  about  camels?" 

"No  fear!"  Jerry  scoffed.  "They  had  a  lot  of 
superstitions — like  curing  a  camel  with  a  necklace 
of  blue  beads.  And  that's  about  all.  The  govern- 
ment breeds  better  camels  now.  That's  only  natural. 
We're  white.  I  don't  mean  to  say,  though,  that 
we've  bred  the  devil  out  of  our  camels.  My  busi- 
ness is  camels,"  he  went  on,  "and  I'm  not  ashamed 
of  it.  But  sometimes  I  lose  patience  with  the 
brutes.  A  couple  of  years  ago  I  was  traveling  to 
the  north  of  this  with  a  train  of  four  pack-camels. 
One  morning,  when  the  camels  were  packed  I  found 
that  I  had  forgotten  to  stow  away  a  billy-can 
[bushman's  tea-kettle].  When  I  picked  that  little 
billy-can  up,  and  made  for  the  nearest  camel,  mean- 
ing to  hang  it  on  his  pack,  he  began  to  bubble  and 
groan,  as  if  it  wasn't  his  billy-can,  and  he'd  be 
danmed  if  he'd  carry'  more  than  his  share,  and  what 
did  I  mean,  anyhow,  by  proi)osing  to  overload  a 
lX)or  camel  that  way?  So  to  make  things  easy  I 
switched  off  to  the  next  camel.  And  he  began  to 
groan.  They  all  groaned.  The  ver>'  .sight  of  that 
little  billy-can  made  them  rage.     Not  one  of  them 

107 


?:i 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

would  have  it  on  his  back.  Well,  I  was  disgusted. 
Instead  of  hanging  it  on  a  pack,  I  mounted  my 
riding-camel,  with  the  billy-can  in  my  hands.  He 
was  horrified.  Lord!  how  he  bawled!  When  he 
got  up  he  was  bawling  still.  Wouldn't  move  a  step. 
And  then  I  leaned  forward  and  shook  that  billy- 
can  in  his  face.  And  that  satisfied  him.  He  quit. 
Off  he  went.  Not  a  murmur.  Why?  I  reckon  he 
thought  /  was  carrying  that  billy-can." 


(' 


.i 


XIX 

A   NIGHT    IN   THE    OPEN 

PRESENTLY  Jerry  gathered  his  two  hands  full 
of  slender  bnishwood  for  the  fire.     Little  sticks 
these  were — the  thickness  of  a  pencil.     It  was  a  mere 
matter  of  stooping  in  the  neighborhood  of  an  aged 
bush  and  sweeping  his  hands  over  the  dry  earth. 
A  Canadian  woodsman  would  have  taken  an  ax — 
however  warm  the  weather — and  made  a  fire  of 
such  proportions  that  it  would  ver>'  near  have  blis- 
tered him  to  approach  it;   and  he  would  have  had 
the  long  trouble,  moreover,  of  fashioning  a  means 
of  hanging  his  kettle  in  the  blaze,  and  would  eventu- 
ally have  been  put  to  the  bother  of  extinguishing  his 
great  fire.    Jerry's  twigs  were  so  dry   that   they 
flamed  when  he  touched  a  match  to  them.     In  a 
moment  they  were  all  ablaze — a  crackling,  crimson, 
lusty  little  fire,  giving  off  a  thin,  fragrant  smoke, 
which    we    breathed    with    delight.     Nothing    per- 
suaded us  of  our  remoteness  from  the  forests  we  knew 
so  much  as  this  strange  fragrance:    it  was  like  the 
incense  of  a  temple — a  mystery  to  our  experience. 
Having  been  filled  from  the  canvas  water-bags  we 
carried,  the  billy-can  was  set  in  the  midst  of  the  fire. 
It  was  no  trouble  at  all  to  do  it.     And  so  nicely  had 
Jerry  adjusted  the  number  of  little  sticks  to  the 

109 


it 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 


!    } 


>.J 


need  of  licat,  that  when  the  billy  was  boiling  the 
fire  was  burned  down  to  a  little  heap  of  whitening 
coals.  It  was  an  improving  example  of  the  economy 
of  the  Australian  bushman's  measur.     in  the  bush. 

When  we  had  disposed  of  the  tea,  with  the  bread 
and  cold  meat  of  our  fare,  we  walked  into  the  bush 
near  by — an  open  growth  of  scrub,  and  of  bushes 
and  tussocks  of  thorny  spinnifex,  with  some  dwarfed 
trees.  It  was  the  time  of  the  midsummer  drought. 
The  earth  was  dry  and  barren  and  baked.  There 
was  no  living  grass — no  dead  grass,  prostrate  and 
brown.  All  tender  growth  had  burned  up  and  van- 
ished away.  But  this  was  not  yet  the  desert  to 
which  we  were  bound.  It  is  green  and  nourishing 
after  the  rain  (they  said).  And  at  any  rate  the 
drought  and  hc\c  and  isolation  of  this  small  part 
do  not  characterize  the  vast  and  varied  whole  of 
the  wonderful  Australian  world.  The  traveler  is  as- 
tonished, ui)on  his  return,  to  be  told  that  Australia 
has  been  written  down  by  some  an  arid  waste.  It 
is  an  unjust  and  injuriotis  fiction.  Australia  is  pre- 
ponderantly fertile  and  rich,  a  pleasant  coimtry, 
with  abundantly  generous  rewards,  growing  all  the 
while  more  populous  and  rich;  and  the  dry  interior 
neither  discomforts  nor  beggars  the  asjjiring  and 
l^rosperous  pco])le  who  dwell  in  the  many  favorable 
lands  more  than  it  troubles  the  happiness  of  the  in- 
habitants of  any  other  continent.  The  Australian 
dr\-lands,  which  narrow,  year  by  year,  as  they  are 
better  known,  have  been  c-elebrated  above  the 
wealthy  places  for  the  sensation  they  atlord— the 
hot  winds,  the  burning  days,  the  stony  deserts  and 
waterless  sandy  tracts. 

Some  as])ects  of  the  central  interior  are  sensational 

no 


A   NIGHT   IN  THE   OPEN 


enouj^h  and  not  easily  to  be  forgotten.  It  is  rclatecl 
by  one  of  the  early  explorers  that,  so  great  was  the 
heat  of  the  day,  the  stirrup-irons  st-orchcd  the 
leather  soles  of  his  party.  Matches  ignited  when 
they  fell  on  the  ground.  A  thermometer  graduated 
to  127°  burst  its  bulb  in  the  middle  of  the  day.  A 
hot  wind  blew,  filling  the  air  with  impalpable  dust, 
through  which  the  sun  looked  blood-red.  The 
horses  stood  with  their  backs  to  the  wind  and  their 
noses  to  the  ground,  without  the  muscular  strength 
to  raise  their  heads.  The  birds  were  mute.  In 
that  withering  wind  the  leaves  of  the  sintb  fell 
around  like  a  snow-shower.  All  green  vegetation 
seemed  to  wilt  and  die  in  the  heat.  Where  ten 
months  before  the  cereal  grasses  had  been  in  seed 
and  the  shrubs  bore  rijx.'  fruit,  there  was  neither 
herb  nor  bud  visible.  "I  wondered,"  the  explorer 
records  in  his  diar>%  "that  the  very  grass  did  not 
take  fire."  Yet  Australia  is  no  more  completely 
arid  and  withered  than  Canada  is  eomi)lctely  frozen 
up — an  extraordinary  impression  of  Canada,  by  the 
way,  which  .seems  to  be  wide-spread  in  Australia. 
It  is  no  more  reasonable  to  infer  a  d"scription  of  the 
Australian  continent  from  the  adventures  of  the 
first  travelers  to  the  interior  than  to  draw  an  im- 
pression of  the  Canadian  wheat-lands  from  the 
records  of  the  Arctic  ex])lorers. 

In  the  jarrah  bush  we  met  a  young  Englishman  who 
had  first  emigrated  to  Canada.  It  was  midwinter 
when  he  arrived  at  Halifax.     A  blizzard  was  blowing. 

"TTgh!"  said  he.  "Cold?  My  word!  I  went 
bad;  on  the  same  shi])." 

"Cold,  of  course,"  we  protested,  laughing  at  him 
for  this  folly;   "but  don't  you  sec — " 

III 


fV 


1/ 


•  I 


,i 


.' 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

"Oh,  I  know  all  about  Canada,"  he  broke  in,  with 
a  very  knov/inti  grin.     "I've  been  to  Canada." 

When  we  returned  to  the  camp  the  sun  had  got 
below  the  dwarfed  trees.  It  was  a  shy,  quiet  set- 
ting—  a  flush  and  pale  afterglow.  And  the  dusk 
followed  quickly.  In  this  beneficent  weather  our 
arrangements  for  the  open  were  of  the  simplest  de- 
scription. It  is  the  Australian  way.  The  bush- 
men  travel  amazingly  light.  A  billy-can  and  a 
blanket— the  "swag"  of  the  bush— are  equipment 
enough  for  any  frugal  man  in  places  within  reach; 
and  the  addition  of  a  sound  horse  to  this  opens  the 
whole  reasonably  traversable  Australian  world  to 
a  bushman  of  resource,  and  comes  near  to  establish- 
ing his  independence.  We  spread  a  great  square  of 
canvas  on  the  sand,  to  frustrate  the  ants,  and  threw 
the  blankets  within  reach,  for  comfort  in  the  etyier- 
gency  of  a  rising  wind,  and  were  ready  for  the  night 
and  the  intimate  tales  which  precede  sleep  in  the 
open.  Jerry  yarned  of  camels  and  the  Kimberley 
and  the  eariy  gold-fields  days — of  water  at  three 
shillings  a  gallon,  and  of  £15  to  refresh  the  camels, 
and  of  heartily  shooting  an  Afghan  who  had  washed 
his  hands  in  a  well;  and  the  Australian,  who  had 
with  great  good  nature  come  this  far  with  us,  yarned 
of  the  customs  of  blackfcllows  and  the  adroitness  of 
black  trackers;  and  in  exchange  for  these  stories 
we  rattled  away  about  American  speed  and  sky- 
scrapers and  millionaires  and  the  dark  ways  of 
politics— which  seemed  here  to  be  of  more  curious 
interest  than  our  tales  of  the  pine  forests  and  abun- 
dant running  rivers  of  the  wildernesses  of  our  own 
land. 


[ 


XX 


BLACK  TRACKERS 


A  CELEBRATED  Australian  traveler,  Baldwin 
Spencer,  himself  an  experienced  and  cunning 
bushman,  relates  that  in  the  desert  region  of 
Lake  Amadeus,  near  the  center  of  the  continent, 
the  bushcraft  of  the  natives,  their  bewildering  in- 
timacy with  the  traces  of  desert-life,  and  their  swift 
power  to  follow,  once  left  him  in  a  state  of  consider- 
able astonishment,  seasoned  as  he  was.  It  was  in 
the  scnib  of  that  baked  land.  The  ground  was  dry 
and  hard.  Doubtless  it  would  not  readily  take  the 
impression  of  a  heel.  At  any  rate,  when  the  natives 
stopped  short  to  scrutinize  the  ground,  the  traveler, 
though  obviously  tracks  of  some  sort  were  plain  to 
his  blackfellows,  could  descry  nothing  with  his  own 
keen  eyes  to  enlighten  him.  Presently  he  was  in- 
formed, however,  that  an  emu  was  near  by  with  her 
young.  And  upon  this  the  natives  set  off  in  chase, 
moving  so  fast  in  pursuit  of  these  faint  indications, 
which  were  altogether  invisible  to  the  traveler,  that 
the  traveler,  somewhat  encumbered  by  collecting 
apparatus,  though  apparently  not  heavily  so,  found 
it  difficult  to  keep  up  with  them.  At  the  end  of  a 
chase  of  two  miles  an  emu  was  found  in  an  open 
patch   with  her  six  young.     Reflection   upon   this 

113 


I 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 


I' 


l| 


,i 


;i! 


bald  achievement  discloses  the  remarkable  quality 
of  it.  The  blackfellows  had  not  only  espied  and 
identified  these  traces,  which  were  so  obscure  that 
a  white  bushman,  himself  experienced,  could  not 
even  see  them,  looking  at  leisure,  but  had  correctly 
measured  the  age  of  them  and  the  approximate  dis- 
tance which  the  authors  had  wandered. 

"I  am  not  surprised,"  said  the  Australian,  when 
we  had  told  him  this  story.  "Did  you  ever  hear  the 
tale  of  the  black  tracker  and  the  British  officers?" 

We  had  not  heard  this  tale. 

"It  is  a  familiar  stor>',"  said  the  Austrahan.  "I 
wonder  that  you  have  not  heard  it.  It  is  told  cver>'- 
where.  And  it  illustrates  perfectly  the  easy  accu- 
racy with  which  these  truly  extraordinary  fellows 
are  able  to  observe  and  deduce  in  the  exercise  of 
their  peculiar  aptitude.  During  the  South  African 
war,"  the  Australian  went  on,  proceeding  to  the 
tale  of  the  black  tracker  and  the  five  skeptical 
British  officers,  "an  officer  of  the  Australian  con- 
tinent, then  held  in  reserve,  I  fancy,  boasted  of  the 
cunning  of  his  black  tracker,  who  was  no  great 
master  of  the  craft,  after  all.  until,  greatly  to  his 
sur]>rise  and  indignation,  he  found  that  he  had  ex- 
hausted the  credulity  of  the  British  officers  u-ith 
whom  he  was  mossing.  So  ma.r\y  remarkable  tales 
had  he  told,  each  seeming  to  surpass  the  last  in  im- 
probability, that  he  was  challenged  to  a  trial  of  the 
blackfellow's  cunning,  a  sporting  enteqirise  in  which, 
of  course,  he  was  delighted  to  indulge.  And  the 
conditions  of  the  trial  were  these:  that  the  five 
skeptical  British  officers,  two  afoot,  three  mounted, 
shouUl  start,  at  various  intervals,  in  whatsoever 
directions  they  might  elect,  proceeding  thereafter, 

114 


H. 


if 


BLACK  TRACKERS 


each  according  to  his  fancy,  for  a  period  agreed  upon ; 
and  that  the  black  tracker,  knowing  only  the  color 
of  the  horse  that  each  mounted  man  rode,  and  hav- 
ing seen  only  the  print  of  the  shoes  which  each  foot- 
man wore,  should  trace  them  all,  within  a  stipu- 
lated time,  subsequently  reporting  the  movements 
of  each  with  reasonable  accuracy. 

'"Is  it  agreed,'  said  one  of  the  officers,  'that  we 
may  obscure  our  tracks?' 

"'It  is  so  agreed.' 

"'Must  we  keep  to  soft  ground?' 

"'Oh,  my  word,  no!'  the  Australian  laughed. 
'No,  no,  no!  I  have  no  wish  to  take  advantage  of 
you.     Go  where  you  like.' 

"'May  wc  take  off  our  shoes?* 

'"Yes,  yes!     Of  course!' 

"'I  say,  though,  that  '11  make  it  rather  awkward 
fc"  the  tracker,  won't  it?' 

"'O  Lord!'  the  Australian  groaned.  'That's 
what  you  jolly  well  want  to  do,  isn't  it?  Don't 
spare  the  tracker.  He'll  be  right  enough.  And  I 
warn  you  that  your  efforts  to  confuse  him  will  j)rob- 
ably  furnish  him  with  a  good  deal  of  amusement.' 

"It  tumcd  out  as  the  Australian  had  predicted. 
The  tracker  had  an  entertaining  day  of  it.  He  re- 
turned contemptuous  of  the  bushcraft  of  the  five 
skeptical  British  officers.  But  he  had  not  been 
spared.  The  five  skeptical  officers  had  taken  to 
stony  ground  and  sought  in  every  way  to  bewilder 
him.  He  had  followed  the  tracks  of  the  mounted 
men,  however,  on  a  run,  identifying  and  distinguish- 
ing the  movements  of  each  by  the  colors  of  the 
horses,  dark-brown  hairs,  light-brown  hairs,  gray 
hairs,  samples  of  which  he  produced ;  and  in  addition 

"5 


\l 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

to  this  he  described,  more  or  less  intimately,  the  in- 
cidents of  the  ride  of  each:  the  first  horseman,  for 
example,  had  dismounted  and  lighted  his  pipe;  the 
second  had  been  thrown  when  riding  at  a  canter; 
the  third  had  dismounted,  rested  in  the  shade, 
climbed  a  tree  for  a  view  of  the  country — for  a  view, 
presumably,  because  there  was  no  other  reason 
why  he  should  have  climbed  the  tree — no  'possum, 
no  sugar-bag.  And  the  movements  of  the  footmen, 
also,  were  correctly  described.  One  had  tramped 
his  course  without  pause  or  incident ;  but  the  other, 
having  taken  off  his  shoes,  according  to  the  evidence 
of  a  wi'^p  or  two  of  wool  from  his  socks,  had  cut 
his  foot  and  gone  lame  the  rest  of  the  way,  as  a 
stone  with  a  speck  of  blood  disclosed.  When  the 
tracker  concluded  his  revelations,  i  was  agreed  by 
the  five  British  officers,  now  convinced  of  his  skill, 
that  his  report  was  ample,  that  he  had  not  made 
a  single  mistake,  and  that  he  had  fulfilled  all  the 
conditions  of  the  trial  in  a  way  to  astound  them." 


!l 


J 


Black  trackers  are  regularly  attached  to  the  police- 
stations  of  the  outlands.  They  are  the  bloodhounds 
of  the  cori)s.  And  though  many  of  the  police  are 
themselves  bushmen  of  consequence,  it  is  largely  on 
account  of  the  black  trackers  that  the  fear  of  the 
law  remains  alive  in  the  remoter  bush  and  deserts. 
The  best  trackers  arc  brought  straight  from  the  bush 
— from  the  half-savage  tribes  on  the  other  side  of 
the  frontiers — arriving  young,  fresh,  eager,  proud 
of  the  distinction.  A  rcscrvation-bom  blackfellow 
is  of  small  account  in  this  respect;  and  a  servant  of 
the  towns — a  wretched  hanger-on  of  civilization — 
is  of  no  vcr>'  considerable  account  at  all.    It  is  a 

lit 


V 


THE    IltST    TR.\CKI:KS    ARU    UROIGHT    SlKAUilll     1  KUM     I  III:     111  ^11 


n 


•  I 


.' 


:!' 


;i 


BLACK   TRACKERS 

curious  fact  that  a  few  years  of  the  provender  and 
idleness  of  the  missions  (reservations)  dull  a  black- 
fellow's  singular  faculties  beyond  effective  employ- 
ment. Perceptions  so  delicate  speedily  fail  in  dis- 
use and  are  not  easily  brought  again  to  their  first 
efficiency.  They  demand  continuous  employment, 
they  must  be  cherished  and  exercised— like  the 
mastery  of  some  artistic  technique— if  their  ca- 
pacity for  the  most  subtle  accomplishments  is  to  be 
preserved.  It  is  even  said  that  the  edge  is  taken 
off  a  blackfellovv's  cunning  by  protracted  police- 
station  life.  To  be  kept  keen  and  fit  he  is  best 
maintained  with  his  tribe  in  the  bush  and  fetched 
out  only  when  occasion  requires  his  services. 

Nothing    could    more    significantly    indicate    the 
sensitive  quality  of  the  tracker's  genius. 

Back  of  a  capable  black  tracker's  cunning  is  a 
savage  delight  in  the  man-hunt— a  bestial  lireless- 
ness,  too,  which  must  ajipall  the  wretched  fugitive 
who  is  aware  of  the  fateful  manner  of  the  pursuit. 
A  tracker  of  the  Kimbericy,  for  example,  led  his  troop- 
er a  remarkable  chase  after  a  horse-stcalcr,  escajjed 
from  jail  in  New  South  Wales  to  the  northwestern 
wilds.  "There  was  absolutely  no  real  rest,"  sajs 
the  trooper,  "night  or  day."  It  was  bad  country— 
the  ranges  and  their  neighborhood:  a  deal  of  wild 
and  stony  ground,  which  takes  meager  imprcssioP:; 
of  the  passage  of  a  traveler.  And  confusing  rains 
fell.  Occasionally  the  tracker  was  almost  on  the 
heels  of  the  fugitive.  At  times,  baffled,  he  lagged  a 
week  and  more  beliind.  For  days  on  end  in  the 
ranges  the  ground  was  so  difficult  for  the  tracker 
that  progress  was  at  the  rale  of  less  than  a  mile  an 
hour.     When  the  tracks  were  lost  the  blackfcllow 

"7 


1- 


II   ) 


I'l 


iHi 


I 


IP 

I 

I 

I' 

.it 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

ran  the  country  like  a  bloodhound  until  he  had 
picked  them  up.  Once  the  fugitive  himself  came  to 
desperate  straits  for  water:  the  tracker  made  out 
that  he  was  lost  and  exhausted— that  he  had  stum- 
bled, fallen,  scraped  moist  mud  from  a  dned-out 
"soak"  with  which  to  rub  himself  and  cool  his  skin 
in  that  extremity  of  thirst  and  weariness.  The  fugi- 
tive was  taken  at  the  end  of  a  chase  of  fijty-stx  days, 
during  which  time,  according  to  the  report  of  the 
trooper,  the  blackfellow  had  "tracked  this  man 
every  yard  of  the  way"  he  went. 

"For  God's  sake,"  said  the  exhausted  wretch, 
"don't  put  more  chains  on  me  than  you  can  help!" 

A  blackfellow  will  readily  identify  the  tracks  of 
an  acquaintance— a  slight  acquaintance,  it  may  be— 
white  or  black,  whom  he  has  encountered,  perhaps, 
no  more  than  at  occasional  intervals.    It  seems  that 
his  memory  is  as  a  matter  of  course  accustomed  to 
catch  and  retain  impressions  of  footprints  as  well 
as  of  features.    The  imprint  of  a  man's  foot  is  as 
considerably  a  feature  of  his  identity  as  the  shape 
of  his  nose.     Reasoning  from  a  stranger's  tracks,  a 
rarely  clever  blackfellow  will  in  a  surprising  meas- 
ure be  able  to  describe  the  physical  characteristics 
of  the  man— weight,  height,  ixjculiarities  of  gait, 
deformities  of  the  legs,  like  bow-legs  and  knock- 
knees.     He  will  know,  perhaps,  his  physical  con- 
dition.   Was  he  hungry?    Was  he  thirsty?    Was 
he  weakening?    Was  he  going  strong?    And  more 
than  that:   it  may  be  that  the  tracker  will  be  able 
to  infer  the  mood  of  the  man— whether  downcast  or 
blithe— and  whether  his  progress  was  confident  or 
furtive.    And  what  is  the  character  of  the  fugitive? 
Is  he  a  determined  fellow?    Is  he  a  coward?    Upon 

ii8 


BLACK   TRACKERS 

reflection  it  will  appear  that  all  these  details  of 
physique,  mood,  character,  and  physical  condition, 
however  slight  the  indications  may  be,  do  inevitably 
communicate  themselves  to  a  man's  footprints;  and 
it  is  reasonably  conceivable  that  they  will  disclose 
themselves  to  a  savage  genius  who  has  from  his 
earliest  years  specialized  in  this  subtle  learning  of 
the  open. 

In  the  criminal  courts  of  the  back-blocks,  a  native 
witness's  identification  of  the  tracks  of  the  accused, 
generally  speaking,  has  much  the  same  credibility 
as  the  evidence  of  an  eye-witness. 

"You  savvy  this  fellow?" 

"I  savvy  this  fellow  all  right." 

"You  savvy  tracks  makc-um  by  this  fellow?" 

"I  savvy  tracks  him  bin  make,  all  right." 

It  is  conclusive. 

9 


i' 


XXI 

LORE  OF  THE  DESERT  PLACES 

"T  RECALL,"  said   the  Australian,  "a  typically 
1  obscure  trace :  a  few  grains  of  sand,  fallen  from 
a  fugitive's  bare  foot  on  a  flat  stone  of  a  stretch  of 
stony  country.     Nobody  in  the  world  but  a  black- 
fellow   would   have   observed    them.     And   had    a 
white  bushman  done  so  he  would  not  have  caught 
the  significance  of  them— would  not  have  had  the 
wit  to  comprehend  that  those  grains  of  sand  were  out 
of  place  and  could  mean  only  one  thing.    And  that's 
the  secret  of  the  craft— the  significance  of  things  that 
are  out  of  place.     You  see,  the  tracker  went  straight 
ahead— swiftly,  too — on  the  trail  of  that  displaced 
dust.     It  was  quite  enough.     I  recall  another  rather 
remarkable  instance.     I  saw  a  blackfcUow  track  a 
chap  through  the  timber-bush  at  a  canter  by  means 
of  the  color  of  the  leaves— the  difference  in  Hght  and 
shadow.     It  was  like  a  path  through  the  snow  on  a 
winter's  afternoon  at  Home.     But  /  couldn't  see 
anything.     And  I  recall  another  bit  of  good  work. 
A  tracker  I  know,  pursuing  two  men,  only  one  of 
whom  was  wanted,  came  at  last  to  a  point  where 
the   two  rogues  had  separated.     It  was  a  clever 
dodge.     The  tracker  could  find  no  fair  impression 
of  a  foot  on  that  hard  ground.     A  bushman  would 

I20 


;i' 


fi 


LORE  OF  THE  DESERT  PLACES 

have  been  balked  for  a  bit — would  have  scrambled 
about  and  lost  time.  But  the  nigger  followed  the 
right  man.  How?  By  identifying  the  ashes  of  his 
first  camp-fire.  He  happened  to  know  how  that 
particular  chap  made  a  fire." 

"Small  hope  for  the  outlaw!" 

"Dogs  on  the  scent.  And  a  devilish  willing  pack. 
Yet  there  is  no  mystery.  The  exploits  of  the  trackers 
proceed  from  the  keenest  sort  of  observation  and  a 
shocking  cunning  in  inference.  When  the  nigger 
points  out  the  little  disturbances  of  earth  and  stones 
and  leaves— when  he  fairly  puts  his  finger  on  them 
— all  the  magic  goes  out  of  the  performance." 

"Plain  as  day,"  said  Jerry. 

"Ah,  yes.  You  jolly  well  want  to  kick  yourself, 
you  know,  for  being  mystified  at  all." 

"If  you  make  a  study  of  footprints,"  said  Jerry, 
"you  find  that  they're  all  different  —  like  finger- 
prints. I  reckon  there  never  were  two  men's  tracks 
anywhere  near  exactly  alike.  But  take  a  hcof-mark. 
That's  a  bit  more  puzzling.  Yet  a  good  black  track- 
er can  look  at  the  track  of  a  horse  —  the  depth, 
you  know,  and  the  length  of  stride— and  tell  you 
just  about  how  much  he  weighs,  and  how  many 
hands  high  he  is,  and  where  he  was  shod.  If  he 
knows  a  horse  he  can  easily  pick  the  track  from  the 
trampled  ground  around  a  water-hole.  Once,"  he 
went  on,  proceeding  to  the  tale  of  the  black  tracker 
and  the  distant  trooper,  "two  troopers,  out  on  patrol 
with  their  trackers,  met  in  the  bush  and  traveled 
a  day  together.  Next  morning  they  parted.  One 
went  due  east  and  the  other  a  little  to  the  east  of 
south.  It  was  a  big  angle.  Well,  now,  when  the 
first  trooper  had  ridden  five  days  from  that  point, 

121 


, 


f 

i  I 


;  ' 


•'   i 


tl 


,1 


;i' 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

his  tracker  told  him,  all  at  once,  that  the  second 
trooper  was  at  the  station  to  which  they  were  them- 
selves bound.  The  trooper  laughed  at  him.  You 
see,  that  couldn't  be  so.  It  was  preposterous.  The 
men  had  been  riding  almost  at  right  angles  for  five 
days.  The  tracker  must  be  a  fool— a  silly  boaster. 
But  the  tracker  was  right.  For  some  reason  or 
other  the  second  trooper  had  changed  his  course, 
and  the  blackfellow  had  picked  up  the  track.  And 
here's  the  point:  he  had  seen  that  trooper's  horse 
only  once  before  in  his  life,  and  he  wasn't  balked  by 
the  fact  that  the  trooper  ought  to  have  been  a  good 
many  miles  away." 

"These  most  entertaining  talcs,"  said  I,  "have 
chiefly  to  do  with  the  tracking  of  white  men  by 
blackfellows.  Are  the  native  blacks  able  to  elude 
the  trackers?" 

"No  fear!"  Jerry  laughed. 

"Doubtless  they  oppose  cvmning  with  cunning?" 
"Ah,  yes,"  replied  the  Australian.  "But  set  a 
thief  to  catch  a  thief,  you  know.  I  recall  an  in- 
stance of  the  sort.  In  the  McDonnell  Ranges,  north 
of  Oodnadatta,  a  miner  returning  to  his  camp,  one 
night,  found  that  he  had  been  robbed  of  his  supplies. 
His  only  clue  was  this:  that  on  the  previous  evening 
a  lubra  [blackwoman]  had  asked  for  tobacco,  and 
that,  later,  when  the  miner  was  going  toward  the 
bush  for  firewood,  he  had  caught  sight  of  a  spear 
in  the  scrub,  followed,  presently,  by  the  merest 
glimpse  of  a  vanishing  naked  black.  He  could  not 
blame  the  theft  to  the  woman.  Nor  could  he  iden- 
tify the  blackfellow  with  the  spear.  Moreover,  the 
thieves  had  swept  the  camp  with  boughs,  to  obliter- 
ate their  tracks,  with  blackfellow's  cimning,  and  had 

122 


LORE   OF   TFIE    DESERT    PLACES 


dragged  the  boughs  after  them  when  they  departed. 
As  there  were  hundreds  of  blacks  in  the  neighborhood, 

seemed  to  be  a  hopeless  case.  The  trail  of  the 
■'  ih  was  plain.  It  led  to  a  point  where  the  ground 
was  all  tracked  up  by  blacks.  And  that  was  the  end 
of  it.  Two  trackers  from  the  nearest  police-station, 
however,  went  over  the  ground,  discovering  at  last 
the  fair  print  of  a  great  toe.  'Geera!'  they  said. 
And  they  took  up  Oeera's  trail  from  the  meeting- 
place.  It  led  into  the  bush,  where  it  was  joined  by 
the  tracks  of  a  woman,  which  the  trackers  instantly 
identified  as  the  tracks  of  Nangeena,  Oeera's  lubra. 
Eventually  the  two  were  taken  together  in  the 
ranges.     Oeera  confessed — and  blamed  the  woman." 

"It  is  quite  true,"  Jerry  observed,  "that  a  first- 
class  tracker,  back  in  the  bush,  will  know  the  foot- 
prints of  every  man  and  woman  in  his  district. 
That's  his  business." 

"A  rogue's  gallery  in  his  memory." 

"Oh,  rogues  and  all!" 

"In  this  case,"  said  the  Australian,  "the  trackers 
were  intimately  acquainted  with  the  conformation 
of  Oeera's  great  toe.  There  is  some  mystery  in  all 
this  business,"  he  went  on,  presently.  "A  white  man 
cannot  always  comprehend  the  whole  course  of  the 
tracker's  deductions  from  the  traces  he  observes. 
And  there  are  times  when  the  tracker  himself  can- 
not explain  them.  You  have  seen  a  dog  come  to 
the  end  of  the  scent? — stop,  lift  his  nozzle,  circle 
bewildered,  whimper,  and  at  last  dash  away  with 
certainty.  I  do  not  maintain,  of  course,  that  a 
tracker  has  a  hound's  sense  of  smell,  which  would 
be  highly  absurd;  but  his  behavior  occasionally 
suggests  a  hound — even  resembling  the  inspiration 

123 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 


!    i 

i     :■ 
I     I 


,1 


.1 


of  what  is  called  instinct.  And  I  will  give  you  an 
extraordinary  case.  There  are  many  cases.  This 
one  will  try  your  credulity.  Briefly,  then,  a  black 
tracker,  on  the  trail  of  a  lost  child,  came  to  a  point 
where  he  was  baffled.  Presently  he  picked  up  the 
track  again.  It  was  plain.  It  led,  let  us  say,  to  the 
right.  But  the  tracker  would  not  follow  it.  In- 
stead, he  pointed  to  a  clump  of  bush,  almost  sharply 
to  the  left,  and  said  that  the  child  would  be  found 
there.  And  there  the  kiddie  was,  sure  enough — 
tuckered  out  and  sound  asleep.  I  don't  know  how 
the  tracker  divined  it.  Possibly  he  could  not  him- 
self explain.  There  was  reason  in  the  process,  of 
course.  But  by  what  steps — reasoning  from  point 
to  point — did  the  tracker  arrive  at  the  deduction?" 

"There  is  nothing  for  it,"  I  commented,  "but  to 
swallow  that  story  whole." 

"Nothing  whatsoever." 

"It  does  not  admit,"  said  I,  "of  elucidat     .." 

"There  are  many  mysteries,"  said  the  Australian. 
"It  would  be  a  dull  world  if  there  were  not.  I  may 
add,"  said  he,  "that  a  tracker  is  at  his  best  when  he 
follows  a  lost  child.  There  is  desperate  need  of 
haste.  It  inspires  him.  And  perhaps  he  leaps  to 
his  deductions  without  being  conscious  of  any  in- 
termediate reasoning." 

There  were  other  tales — thrilling,  mystifying  tales. 
And  the  moon  rose,  swollen  and  red,  out  of  a  lake 
and  mist  of  its  own  light.  "If  you  think  of  the  way 
these  trackers  are  bred,  away  out  there  in  the  deserts 
and  bush,"  said  Jerry,  "you  will  begin  to  under- 
stand why  they  are  so  astonishingly  crafty.  I  reckon 
they  learn  their  cunning  in  the  hunt  for  food.    A 

"4 


li' 


LORE  OF  THE  DESERT  PLACES 

little  black  kiddie  fends  for  himself.  Tracks  are  what 
concern  him.  He  plays  tracks.  He's  taught  tracks. 
Tracks  are  his  Three  R's.  He  wants  food  for  him- 
self—food for  his  elders,  too.  What  food  he  gets  he 
must  track.  It  is  scarce.  He  must  be  cunning  and 
diligent.  And  the  desert  animals  are  small— rats, 
snakes,  frogs,  bugs,  bandicoot,  caterpillars,  grubs, 
lizards.  Even  the  wallaby  arc  not  large.  A  little 
black  kiddie  lives  with  the  women  for  a  while.  And 
then  he  goes  to  the  men.  The  more  food  he  can 
find,  of  course,  the  more  praise  he  deserves,  and  the 
better  man  he  is.  It  isn't  surimsing,  after  all,  that 
a  tracker  can  distinguish  one  fcwtprint  from  another 
and  follow  a  human  track.  A  blackfellow  who  must 
be  able  to  track  a  rat  over  hard  ground  or  starve — 
who  can  see  the  track  of  a  bush  mouse  and  know  at 
a  glance  whether  it  is  fresh  enough  to  follow  or  not— 
ought  to  be  able  to  track  a  man.  Why,  when  you 
come  to  think  of  it,  a  human  footprint  is  the  biggest 
track  that  comes  within  his  experience.  It's  like 
big  type.  He  ought  to  be  able  to  read  it.  It  isn't 
that  sort  of  thing  that  puzzles  mc." 

It  was  left  to  us  to  infer  that  something  of  a  dark 
and  mysterious  character  did  very  much  bewilder 
him. 

"What  docs  puzzle  you?"  I  inquired,  curiosity  in- 
flamed. 

"Out  in  the  bush,"  .said  Jerr>',  "you  come  across 
a  good  many  half-caste  children." 

It  was  surely  no  mystery! 

"Jolly  little  shavers,  too,"  he  added,  smiling, 
"blue-evcd  and  as  fat  as  butter." 

"What  of  that?" 

"Well,"  Jerry  replied,  "nobody  ever  saw  a  half- 

«2S 


I'l 


fill 

I-: 


'I  i 


AUSTRALIAN   BYWAYS 


,i 


caste  adult  with  a  tribe  in  the  bush.     Now — what 
bixomcs  of  all  those  jolly  little  blue-eyed  shavers?" 

It  was  broad  moonhght.  The  world  was  like  a 
warm,  dry  room.  No  night-wind  troubled  us.  And 
there  was  no  sound — neither  twitter  nor  buzz  of  life. 
Presently  Jerry  began  a  low  singsong  recitative  from 
the  verse  of  that  Henry  Lawson  whom  the  bushmen 
understand  and  love : 

I've  humped  my  swag  to  Bawley  plain,  and  further  out  and  on 
I've  l)oile<l  my  hilly  by  the  Gulf,  and  lx)iled  it  by  the  Swan — 
I've  thirsted  in  dry  liRnum  swamps,  and  thirsted  on  the  sand, 
And  eked  the  fire  with  camel-dung  in  Never-Never  Land. 

We  looked  up  at  the  pale  stars  from  the  white, 
still,  comfortable  waste.  And  we  were  glad  that 
our  long  piiih  had  led  us  to  this  night  in  the  wide 
Australian  ojx?n. 

Shriveled  leather,  nisty  buckles,  and  the  rot  is  in  our  kniickles, 
Siorihcd  for  months  upon  the  pommel  while  the  brittle  rein 

hun^  free; 
Shrunken  eyes  that  once  were  liKhte<l  with  fresh  boyhood,  dull 

and  blijjhted— 
And  the  sores  ujKin  our  eyelids  are  unpleasant  sights  to  see. 
And  our  hair  is  thin  and  dying  from  the  ends  with  too  long 

lying 
In  the  niglit-dews  on  the  ashes  of  the  Dry  Countrcc. 

No,  you  neciln't  fear  the  blacks  on  the  Never-Ncver  tracks — 
For  the  Myall  in  his  freetlom's  .in  uncommon  sight  to  see; 
Oh,  we  do  not  stick  at  tritlcs— :ind  the  trackers  sneak  their 

rilles, 
And  go  strolling  in  the  gloaming  while  the  sergeant's  yarning 

free: 
'Round  the  Myalls  creep  the  trackers — there's  a  sound  like  firing 

cnickcrs ; 
And— /At  bluiks  arc  grltiiin  scarcer  in  the  Dry  CountrttI 

ia6 


il 


LORE  OF  THE  DESERT  PLACES 

"I  say,"  Jerry  demanded,  breaking  off,  "what 
about  that  camel?" 

"What  camel?" 

Jerry  chuckled. 

"If  I  had  no  ambition  for  that  young  camel  be- 
yond his  pleasure  in  life,"  said  I,  positively,  "I 
should  certainly  shoot  him  for  his  own  sake." 

And  we  fell  asleep. 


Next  day  we  turned  our  faces  toward  Coolgardie, 
the  railroad,  the  shabby  Httle  Goldfield  Express,  and 
Perth.  We  came  with  regret  to  the  last  amazing 
day  of  this  midsummer  dr>'lands  riding.  It  was  a 
waste  place — wide,  parched,  empty — yet  it  charmed 
us,  with  its  color  and  isolation,  and  many  singu- 
lar aspects,  as  any  desert  will,  and  we  wished  we 
were  riding  east  into  the  midst  of  it,  where  the  savage 
life  of  the  land  is.  rather  than  turning  tamely  to  the 
dead  town  of  Coolgardie.  It  was  hot.  It  was  still. 
Yet  a  hot  wind  blew  in  rare,  bewildering  gusts.  The 
touch  of  dust  bunicd  like  sparks  of  fire.  We  trav- 
eled an  oven  of  the  world.  There  was  a  copjx'ry 
haze,  as  though  the  impalpable  particles  of  the  air 
were  incandescent  and  visible;  and  sky  and  scrub 
and  earth  were  all  aglow — molten  blue  and  green  and 
red.  In  contact  with  the  hot  sand  the  air  went  mad. 
It  seemed  to  be  streaked  and  honeycombed.  We 
fancied  that  we  rode  from  areas  of  relief  into  stream- 
ing ctirrcnts  and  still  |xx?kets  of  heat.  Those  ex- 
traordinary atmospheric  conditions  whicli  break  in 
cyclones  were  here  ofwrating  multitudinously  and  in 
miniature  to  raise  a  host  of  little  whirlwinds.  It  was 
an  astounding  s|x?ctacle,  that  blazing  red  expanse 
and  its  thousand  little  dusty  tcmijcsts  circling  and 

127 


II 


m 


f'ti 


L! 


M 


f    ' 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

darting  far  and  near.  They  went  whirling  past, 
enveloping  us,  screaming  under  the  feet  of  our  dis- 
couraged beasts ;  and  far  away,  swirling  and  swelling 
in  the  last  places  we  could  see,  they  raised  a  dust 
like  the  smoke  of  a  forest  fire. 


»r  ■ 

ft 


XXII 


M 


SYDNEY   TO  QUEENSLAND 

T  N  Perth,  once  more,  we   took  passage  for  Ade- 
*  laide,  of  South  Australia,  meaning  to  go  thence 
by  rail  to  Melbourne  and  Sydney.     No  railroad  con- 
nected  the   west  with   the   east.     The   Transcon- 
tinental was  then  building  across  the  dr>'lands  from 
Adelaide    to    Kalgoorlie.    To   pass   from    Western 
Australia  to  Sydney  Side,  we  took  ship  at  Free- 
mantle,  roimded  Cape  Leeuwin,  crossed  the  tur- 
bulent Australian  Bight,  and  ran  up  St.  Vincent 
Gulf  to  Adelaide.    Melbourne  and  Sydney  are  not 
for  description  in  this  narrative  of  our  mild  progress 
of  the  Australian  byways.     Our  wishes  lay  beyond; 
and  presently— we  had  meantime  fallen  in  with  the 
verses  of  that  Australian   poet    of    the    outlands 
whom  Jerry  had   quoted  — they  fixed   themselves 
imperatively  upon  the  coach-roads  of  Queensland. 
Sydney  was  hot,  and  lacked  the  compensations  of  the 
open— intolerable  even  to  the  patient  travelers  that 
we  were.    We  who  had  with  genuine  delight  been 
blistered  in  the  dusty  willy-willies  of  the  Western 
Australian  drylands  now  heartily  wished  ourselves 
an  escape  from  the  glistening  walls  and  pavements: 
nor— so  aggressive  and  terrible  was  the  punishment 
of  the  time— could  we  endure  to  contemplate  an- 

ia9 


ii'l 


AUSTRALIAN   BYWAYS 


,.       I 


1       I 


ll 


If 


other  day  of  dispirited  behavior  or  challenge  again 
the  heat  and  exasperating  white  sunlight.  A  lovely, 
enlivening  town,  truly — given  greatly  to  pleasure, 
too,  in  the  favorable  seasons,  and  more  amply  pro- 
vided with  fields  and  beaches  and  sheltered  salt 
water  than  any  city  that  I  know  of:  yet  now  dull 
and  wretched  in  a  suflfocating  midsummer  weather, 
the  people  indoors,  languishing  without  heart.  A 
hot  wind  blew  from  the  west.  It  came  from  the 
way  of  the  dr>'lands.  It  stifled  the  town — an  oc- 
casional midsummer  visitation  of  distress.  It  would 
presently  switch  to  the  south  (said  they).  A  south- 
erly buster  would  blow — a  Sydney  brickfielder;  and 
then  we  should  know  a  rare  thing,  worth  coming  all 
these  miles  to  see  (said  they),  and  worth  telling  about, 
too,  when  winds  of  consequence  blew  elsewhere  in 
the  world:  a  swiftly  falling  temjDcrature,  a  change 
of  thirty  degrees,  perhaps,  with  a  great  blast  of 
weather  and  a  cloud  and  swirl  of  fine  dust  to  amaze 
us  beyond  the  sand-storm  of  the  African  deserts. 

Quite  so:  but  all  at  once,  then,  a  shilling  copy 
of  the  Popular  Verses  of  Henry  Lawson,  that  poet 
of  the  Australian  bush,  caught  us  off  our  feet. 
We  read  "The  Ballad  of  the  Rouseabout."  We 
read  "The  Boss  Over  the  Board."  Wc  read  "The 
Song  of  the  Old  Bullock-Driver."  And  we  read 
"The  Lights  of  Cobb  and  Co."  And  we  strapped 
our  luggage,  in  haste  to  be  gone  upon  this  new 
business;  and  we  called  for  the  bill,  and  we  harried 
the  porters,  and  we  were  presently  thanking  God  for 
the  pleasure  of  exercising  our  irresp>onsibility,  the 
while  wc  rattled  out  of  Sydney  station,  bound  north 
to  the  bush  and  long  roads  of  mid-Queensland — the 
wool-track  and  the  irresistible  outlands,  the  wind 

J  30 


SYDNEY   TO   QUEENSLAND 

and  odors  and  small  adventures  of  the  far-away 
open  places. 

Fire  lighted — on  the  table  a  meal  for  sleepy  men — 

A  lantern  in  the  stable — a  jingle  now  and  then — 

The  mail-coach  looming  darkly  by  light  of  moon  and  star — 

The  growl  of  sleepy  voices — a  candle  in  the  bar — 

A  stumble  in  the  passage,  of  folk  with  wits  abroad — 

A  swear-word  from  a  bedroom — the  shout  of  "All  aboard!" 

"Tchk-tchk!    Git  up!"    "Hold   fast,  there!"  and  down  the 

range  we  go! 
Five  hundred  miles  of  scattered  camps  will  watvh  for  Cobb  and 

Co. 

Old  coaching-towns  already  decaying  for  their  sins; 
Uncounted  Half -Way  Houses  and  scores  of  Ten-Mile  Inns; 
The  riders  from  the  stations  by  lonely  granite  peaks; 
The  blackboy,  for  the  shepherds  on  sheep  and  cattle  creeks; 
The  roaring  camps  of  Gulong  and  many  a  Diggers'  Rest; 
The  diggers  on  the  Lachlan;   the  huts  of  Furthest  West: 
Some  twenty  thousand  exiles,  who  sailed  for  weal  or  woe, 
The  bravest  hearts  of  twenty  lands,  will  wait  for  Cobb  and  Co. 

The  roads  arc  rare  to  travel,  and  life  seems  all  complete: 
The  grind  of  wheels  on  gravel,  the  trot  of  horses'  feet — 
The  trot,  trot,  trot,  and  cantor,  as  down  the  spur  we  go — 
The  green  sweeps  to  horizons  blue  that  call  for  Cobb  and  Co. 


'4 


h! 


i' 


XXIII 


BOOKED  THROUGH 


i'} 


'I  I 


I' 


AT  half  past  three  of  a  raw  Queensland  morning 
^  the  'ostler  of  the  inn  knocked  us  up  for  the 
Royal  Mail.  A  tap  on  the  door,  and  a  surly  whisper, 
breathing  through  the  keyhole,  with  reluctant  dis- 
cretion, "Coach  below,  sir!"  The  warning  ran  into 
the  "Aouw!"  of  a  creaky  yawn.  Tap-tap  next  door. 
A  snort  in  surprisingly  prompt  response.  Tap-tap 
across  the  hall.  A  grumble.  It  was  enough  for 
the  'ostler.  He  tiptoed  down  the  corridor  upon 
his  yawning  business.  Tap-tap  down  the  corridor. 
No  answer.  Tap-tap-tap-tap-/a/7 — peremptorily — 
down  the  corridor.  A  growl  and  a  wicked  sputter 
of  rage.  "I  s'y,  sir!"  the  'ostler  complained,  deeply 
injured,  expressing  his  resentment  with  colonial 
candor,  "coach  below,  sir,  gor  blime  me,  sir!  W'yke 
up,  sir — gor  blime  it!"  A  muffled  outburst  of 
anathema  indicated  that  the  prospective  passenger 
had  heard  and  would  attend.  No  more  tapping. 
Four  of  us,  obviously,  were  for  the  road  that  day. 
Yawns,  then,  next  door.  Yawns  and  sighs  across 
the  hall.  Yawns  and  a  smothered  rumble  of 
growling  down  the  corridor.  When,  presently,  we 
tiptoed  past  the  gentleman  -  jackaroo's  door,  the 
breathings  of  that  young  English  exquisite's  slumber 

132 


m 


BOOKED   THROUGH 

disclosed  that  he,  at  any  rate,  was  not  bound  on  to 
the  'prentice  labor  of  his  station.  Snores  resound- 
ed from  the  comer  room — snores  of  such  a  down- 
right and  abandoned  character  that  they  could  pro- 
ceed from  nobody  but  the  drunken  horse-breaker. 
And  they  came  like  the  music  of  good  news:  the 
drunken  horse-breaker,  too,  was  remaining,  and  his 
luggage  of  contentious  conversation.  The  trooper 
was  ahorse,  the  shearer  was  awheel,  the  swagmen — 
two  weathered  old  mates — were  afoot;  and  in  the 
sleepy  dawn  we  recalled  nobody  else — except  the 
young  lady  who  had  until  midnight  executed  "The 
Robin's  Return"  on  the  inn  piano  with  exact  pre- 
cision. 

Departure  was  appointed  for  four  o'clock.  It 
lacked  twenty  minutes  of  the  hour.  In  the  yard 
below,  the  coach,  a  great  rattletrap,  already  bulky 
with  the  mail,  was  drawn  up  and  drearily  waiting. 
"'Ave  yer  tucker,  sir,"  the  'ostler  whispered,  making 
a  mystery  of  the  thing,  like  a  tip  on  a  horse-race, 
"an*  'ave  it  in  a  'urry." 

"Our— tucker?" 

"Breakfus',  sir.  'E  don't  del'y,  sir,  w'en  'e's 
goin'  through." 

A  black  night  pressed  in  upon  the  pallid  light  of  an 
overhead  lantern  which  projected  into  the  yard  from 
the  lintel  of  the  public-room  door.  A  yawning  coach- 
man, wrapped  to  the  ears  against  the  foggy  weather, 
stood  under  the  lamp,  whip  in  hand,  his  fat  legs 
spread  wide,  as  if  cunningly  prepared  against  the 
accident  of  his  falling  asleep,  where  he  stood,  and 
toppling  over.  And  the  coach,  too,  which  was 
tilted  a  bit,  having  fallen  into  that  posture,  appar- 
ently, in  a  cat-nap,  seemed  to  have  kept  late  hours 

133 


il 


IT 

!] 

M 
1 1 


/      I 


l» 


,1 


•l 


M-' 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

and  to  have  been  turned  out  of  quarters,  a  disrepu- 
table slumber  cut  short,  without  time  to  wash  its 
face.    The  horses  were  dejected  and  sleepy    A  sleepy 
coach-boy  held  th^  heads  of  the  drooping  leaders. 
He  was  sound  asleep,  indeed,  with  his  face  agamst 
the  shoulder  of  the  near  horse,  and  his  bare  legs, 
stiffened  like  the  legs  of  a  tripod,  of  which  the  horse 
may  be  supposed  to  have  formed  the  third,  inclined 
in   a   wiy   to  hold   him   upright.    Observing   the 
wretched  state  of  men  and  beasts,  we  yawned,  and 
rubbed  our  eyes,  and  yawned  and  yawned  again. 
And  the  'ostler  yawned,  and  the  coachman  yawned, 
and  the  horses  seemed  imminently  about  to  yawn, 
and  the  coach-boy,  awakened  by  this  disturbance 
of  yawning,  yawned,  too,  and  so  capaciously,  for 
one  of  his  age  and  stature,  that  we  fancied  his  little 
jaws  would  stick  fast  at  the  extremity  of  their  width 
and  require  the  immediate  services  of  a  physician 
to  restore  them.     But  nothing  of  the  sort  happened : 
the  coach-boy  was  doubtless  accustomed  to  manag- 
ing his  sturdy  little  jaws  at  that  early  hour  of  the 
morning;  and  having  stretched  them  to  their  amaz- 
ing capacity,  and  having  maintained  them  in  that 
situation   until  his  satisfaction   was  complete,   he 
snapped  them  shut,  without  any  difficulty  whatso- 
ever, and  put  his  face  down  again,  and  once  more  feU 
sound  asleep. 

In  the  cofifee-room,  in  a  meager,  smoky  lamp- 
light, we  found  a  stout,  florid  man  nodding  over  ham 
and  eggs,  while  he  breakfasted  in  company  with  a 
rusty  old  fellow  with  a  long  gray  beard. 

"Booked  through?"  says  the  florid  man,  waking 


up. 


"Booked  through." 


134 


BOOKED   THROUGH 

"Humph!"  growled  the  other. 

It  seemed  they  were  surly  fellows.  And  we  were 
surly,  too.  A  hundred  miles  of  the  hospitality  of 
the  coach  was  a  shocking  prospect  at  that  dispiriting 
hour. 


These  were  to  be  our  fellow-passengers  of  the  long 
road  of  that  day:  the  drowsy  florid  man  and  the 
rusty  old  fellow  with  the  gray  beard ;  and  promising 
folk  they  were,  indeed,  to  travel  intimately  with, 
though  now  melancholy  and  selfish  with  the  need  of 
being  abroad  from  warm  beds  before  dawn.  The 
rusty  old  fellow,  a  limp,  broad-brimmed  black  hat 
drawn  to  his  cars,  was  lean  and  of  a  cadaverous  pal- 
lor, clad  in  a  threadbare  black  greatcoat,  buttoned 
under  his  beard,  collar  turned  up,  his  neck  incredi- 
bly long  and  scrawny  and  limber,  so  that  when  he 
moved  his  head  it  was  like  the  grotcsciue  nodding 
of  a  toy  manikin.  He  attended  to  his  porridge 
with  that  selfsame  energy  and  anxious  economy  of 
time  whi 'h  (we  learned  before  the  day  was  out)  had 
made  him  rich  in  lands  and  sheep  and  cattle;  and 
when  he  had  smacked  his  gray  lips  for  the  last  time, 
he  was  not  only  comfortably  furnished  for  the  jour- 
ney, but  impatient  with  the  little  leisure  that  re- 
mained, which  he  could  not  by  any  means  turn  to 
remunerative  account.  The  florid  man  was  in  a 
pitiably  sleei)y  way.  He  could  not  rouse  himself — 
try  as  he  would,  with  all  the  flabby  will  that  he  had. 
He  nodded  and  started  and  blinked  and  shook  him- 
self, and  he  .ighed  and  yawned,  and  coughed  in  a 
sudden,  loud,  determined  way,  as  though  now,  at 
last,  he  was  wide  awake  and  master  of  his  faculties; 
but  he  could  not  for  the  life  of  him  command  an 

135 


10 


Hi 


y  \ 


ii  ' 


i  I, 

I 

i.    I 


ll 


It? 

M 


^1 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

interval  of  unblinking  attention  to  the  ham  and 
CECS  an  interval  sufficient  to  make  his  heroic  effort 
to  devour  them  in  the  least  worth  while.  Indeed,  wo 
saw  him  fall  asleep  with  his  fork  midway  from  the 
plate-and  start  awake,  then,  before  he  had  nodded 
twice,  and  stare  at  the  morsel,  and  slowly  recognize 
it  as  something  with  which  he  had  once  been  im- 
portantly concerned,  and  swiftly  dispose  of  it  in  a 
snap  and  a  gulp,  and  nod  helplessly  off  to  sleep 
again.  He  was  sound  asleep,  the  delectable  platter 
close  to  his  florid  countenance,  poor  chap— caughr. 
unready  and  sheepish— when  the  'ostler  came  t. 
wam  us  to  the  coach.  ^ 

A  spare,  jockey-like  little  man,  this   ostler: 
smell  of  the  stable  enveloped  him,  to  be  sure 
he  had  the  secretive,  obsequious  habit  of  tho 
dock  tout.     Every  word  that  he  uttered,  in  th    • 
pany  of  his  betters,  was  let  drop,  in  seclusion,  hkc 
information  of  consequence,  not  to  be  spread  abroad 
among  the  clods  and  the  fools  of  the  neighborlxood, 
who  would  surelv  damage  the  issue,  but  to  be  kept 
close,  with  proper  cunning,  for  employment  to  ad- 
vantage the  knowing.     Late  of  the  night  before,  on 
the  quiet,  withdrawn  from  the  loquacious  presence 
of  the  shearer  and  the  drunken  horse-breaker,  we 
had  been  informed  that  five  points  of  rain  had  fallen 
to  the  west  of  us.     We  must  bend  our  ears  to  catch 
this;  and  though,  at  first,  five  points  of  rain  to  the 
west  of  us  seemed  to  be  a  matter  of  no  grave  mo- 
ment, when  we  had  received  the  'ostler's  glance,  and 
been  subjected  to  his  gradual  wink,  we  were  on  the 
point  of  exclaiming,  "You  don't  mean  to  say  so!"  and 
conceiving  ourselves  put  in  possession  of  information 
which  with  a  little  capital  might  father  a  most  prof- 

136 


•.l-c 
.1:.  ■ 

Nld- 


BOOKED   THROUGH 

itable  speculation.  A  vastly  entertaining  fellow:  I 
would  not  forget  him— an  amiable  rascal,  no  doubt. 
And  now  he  whispered  the  news  that  it  was  four 
o'clock— breathed  it  -."  .  a  wink  so  sly,  so  still,  .so 
subtly  insinuating  the  imi^rtance  of  the  communi- 
cation, that  had  we  been  bushrangers  of  the  old 
days,  challenging  capture  in  town,  for  mere  sport  of 
the  hazard,  and  had  the  'ostler  been  the  bush- 
telegraph,  and  had  the  police  been  upon  us,  and  had 
the  locality  been  infinitely  perilous,  we  could  not 
have  been  more  surely  convinced  of  the  wisdom  of 
escaping  to  the  night  and  the  open  road  by  way  of 
the  coflfee-room  door.  Move  we  did,  in  response  to 
the  'ostler's  dark  suggestion,  somewhat  in  advance 
of  the  florid  man  and  the  rusty  old  fellow  with 
the  long  gray  beard;  and  our  expedition  gave  us 
some  small  advantage,  after  all,  as  the  'ostler  had 
intended:  we  tumbled  into  the  black  interior  of 
the  rattletrap  coach  and  were  in  time  to  seize  the 
most  comfortable  places. 

"Right-o?"  called  the  fat  coachman  from  the 
box. 

"Right-o!"  yawned  the  florid  man. 

"Right-o!"  snapped  the  rusty  old  fellow. 

"Right-o!"  agreed  we. 

"Right-o,  sonny!"  said  the  coachman  to  the 
coach-boy. 

And  we  were  instantly  on  the  jump  It  was  thrill- 
ing.   Expectation  delighted  us. 


XXIV 

THE   king's   highway 


!' 


.1 


WELL,  now,  the  coach-boy.  all  awake  and  lively, 
dropp'-d  the  heads  of  the  leaders.  Icai^ed  to  the 
sadillo  c;f  his  hack,  and  galloped  off  into  the  dark, 
bound  on.  in  smart  haste,  as  a  diminishing  clatter 
of  hoofs  indicated,  to  the  first  post-change,  there  to 
routul  up  fresh  horses  for  the  stage  bt^yond.     And 
the  coach-horses,  having  shaken  themselves  awake 
in  answer  to  the  fat  oiachman's  soft  "(iid-ap,  you 
beauties!"  drew  away  from  the  circle  of  misty  lan- 
tern-light, tumed  out  of  the  inn-yard,  and  broke  into 
a  galU)p  on   the  black  road.     It  was  thick  dark. 
There  were  no  stars:  there  were  no  lighted  windows. 
The  little   town  was  sound  aslet^).     We  turned  a 
comer.  jutuikhI  a  ditch,  carcened  down  a  hill,  rattled 
over  a  bridge,  rolleil  into  the  bush,  and  siK>d  along, 
swaying  and  jolting;   and  all  this  while  (until  our 
searchitig  fingers  found  something  to  grasp)— though 
the  fat  coachman  was  merrily  caroling  "I  Married 
Her  on  the   Downs  "  to  what  must  have  been  the 
first  faint   Hush  of  dawn— all  this  while  we  were 
tumbled  about  in  the  dark,  in  a  fashion  to  pain 
and  irritate  us.  and  had  no  he^rt,  not  one  of  our 
tumultuous  company,  to  make  a  joke  of  our  miser>', 
but  were  all  melancholy  and  grim.    The  expecta- 

138 


THE    KING'S    HIGHWAY 


tion  of  Pickwickian  adveRture  vanished.  A  f;ravc 
situation  all  at  once  confronted  its.  It  could  not  be 
made  light  of:  there  was  no  laughing  it  away — no 
transforming  it,  with  a  touch  of  the  imagination, 
into  an  experience  of  novelty  and  delight,  in  the 
way  of  jocular  travelers  who  have  learned  how  to 
deal  with  the  various  discomforts  of  the  road.  It 
was  to  be  faced  with  what  measure  of  courage  wc 
could  command;  and — in  literal  terms— it  was  a 
terrifying  prosjx'ct.  There  was  no  turning  back:  a 
hundred  miles  of  that  braising  road  lay  ahead  in 
the  empty  bushlands  and  all  the  slow  hours  of  the 
inimical  day  we  had  begun,  dark  of  dawn  tt)  dark 
f)f  night — with  other  days  of  the  back-block  coaching- 
roads  immediately  imi)ending;  and  the  Royal  Mail, 
under  contract  to  iKTform  the  incredible  feat,  would 
accomplish  its  hundred  miles,  weather  permitting, 
no  matter  to  what  desix'rate  state  of  black-and-blue 
exhaustion  the  boundcn  duty  of  transferring  His 
Majesty's  mail  from  plaie  to  i)lace  without  inter- 
ruption might  reduce  idle  travi-lcrs  from  overseas. 

Now  the  'ostler's  warning  his  wink  and  whisjK*r 
— seemed  no  burlesc|ue  of  significance. 

•"Iv  don't  dd'y,  sir,"  .says  the  'ostler,  "wen  'e's 
goin'  through." 

New  Australian  railroads  are  btiilding  and  pro- 
jected -government  lunlcrtakings:  then*  is  a  lusty 
boasting  n(  sjuirs  and  connecting  lines  and  tnms- 
continentals,  all  about  to  U-,  and  sttrc  lo  be,  indeed, 
in  fulfilment  o(  the  fine  Australian  ambition  to  be 
progressive  and  ultitnateiy  wealtliy  and  great;  but 
in  these  raw  times,  with  a  new  wave  of  pionet^ring 
gathering  impulse  imd  a  wide  swcvj),  eighteen  thou- 
sand miles  of  railroad  in:ide(iuately  serve  a  populous 


1: 


n 


n 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 


n 


little  Southeast  (which  is  provided  out  of  i)roportion) 
and  an  amazingly  vast  territory  of  settled  out- 
lands.  Whom  the  saucy  Sydney  lUdkiiu  calls  the 
squatocraey  of  the  land,  being  bound  from  great 
comfortable  estates  to  the  markets  and  fashionable 
pleasures  of  Sydney  and  Melbourne,  in  the  seasons 
for  town,  may  travel  the  intervals  of  highway  in 
equipages  of  distinction,  alone  and  alotif;  but  the 
selector  and  small  fanner  take  the  Royal  Mail  as 
a  matter  of  course,  with  the  commercial  traveler, 
the  wool-buyer,  the  horse-trader,  and  the  school- 
marm,  or  book  ])laccs  with  a  rival,  the  "Democrat." 
the  "  Lively  Billy."  or  the  "TI  underbolt."  A  dash- 
ing fellow,  in  the  co.aching  way,  has  his  privileges  in 
the  coaching  ountry'.  as  of  old:  he  may  strut  the 
inn-yards,  hohnob  with  consequential  passengers 
over  the  bars,  chtick  the  mai<ls  under  the  chin,  curse 
the  'ostlers — precisely  as  though  he  had  no  real 
substance  at  all.  but  lived,  at  intervals,  in  the  chaj)- 
ters  of  some  old  tale  of  the  highroad.  Sometimes 
the  journeys  are  of  tedious  length — out  from  the  Kiin- 
berley,  the  mulga  and  nnl  sand  of  the  West,  the  salt- 
lands  of  upper  South  Australia,  the  back-blocks  of 
New  S<mth  Wales,  the  remoter  Queensland  bush:  a 
day  and  a  half,  a  week,  a  fortnight  or  two,  in  ochre 
heat,  in  cris]).  sparkling  weather,  as  it  may  chance, 
across  the  deserts,  over  the  frosty  ranges.  i)erilously 
through  the  fkxxlcd  bush.  To  the  north  and  west 
of  us,  where  we  tumbled  along  in  the  dark,  the  rains 
were  down :  the  rivers  were  overflowed,  the  bush  was 
under  water,  the  roads  of  the  ui)lands  were  hub- 
deep,  the  mails  were  ten  days  late;  and  we  had 
news  of  a  Ro\al  Mail  mired  Iwtween  st.ages,  trav- 
elers in  the  trees,  the  start  of  a  rescue  c.\ix<dition. 

140 


'}l 


nil      Kl>\  VI      \l\ll.    I  Hll-.^1S(.    A     Klkll 


I> 


! 


THE    KING'S    HIGHWAY 

U  .as  tolerable,  present^  -  -^:r;?:i 
to  the  emergency   and  ^s^^^^^^^  ^^^  „„, 

dip  of  the  rmd.  ami  a  shione  ^^^^^   ^^^.^^ 

with   the   other,   and  ^^^^^f'  ^^  ^^^  ^-erc  far 

against  the  jolt  and  «^^;'^g  "^  ^^^  J^f  ',  ,,iight  with 
too  clever  to  nse  ^'f  '°  [^"^ISk  •  and  the  four 
violence.  It  was  «^^"  ^^;f;Vf;;\4  gallop,  and 
horses  were  still  at  ^  ,f^\^  "^^^^^^^  with  the 

the  f-\--^!l"^tuilvn^' I  Married  Her  on  the 
sacks  o  mad.  ^^^^^^^^  ^^^  ,vas  asleep-hmp 
Downs."    The  stout,  nn  ^.^  ^^^^^^^ 

and  soft  and  ^cavy  •  so  U^at.  a  ^^  ^^^^.^^^ 

worked  both  ways  bemR  J^f '^^st    and  the  rusty 
but  a  comfortable  bulk  to  fall  aganst  ^^^  ^^.^^ 

old   fellow   with  the   gra     beard   ^  ,^^, 

and  angular  (he  was  real     ^'^^hc''  ^"  ^^.^  ^^eerns. 
with  his  elbows).  l''--^'f  "^^i^J^a  splash  of  rosy 
silent  in  the  shado..^  ^^^.^i  black  shapes  and 
light,  far  ^'^^y^J^V'^^/u"  rtcn^ 
tufted  tops  of  t^-b;^^'^^;;^'  "^;,e  radiant-erimson 

i,e  of  dawn.  ^^^^^^'^^  ^^^  ^'S^'  ^f '", 
color,  yellowmg  fast ,  ^P*^^^"'  ^  j  ^^^,,  Queensland 
n.ined.at  last,  in  ^^e  cleep  Uu  ^^^^^^^  V^  ^^^  ^^j, 
day.     Alaughing-pckass3ec  -I  a^^^  ,^,i, 

of  a  bottle-tree  ^^"^  ^^^^^/^^^r^olded.  as  though 
indignation,  and  ^^^^^,^  ,.,^  a  nuisance 
the  disturbance     .  r  I''^^*^^  ^^^      <.|^,nk  into  the 

the  law  should  put  ;^oun  ana  -^^    «  backward 

depths  of  the  »n«aU- s^^^^^    ^^^  ^,.p,,  ,,ve  us 
glances,  and  two  v^  aUab> .  m  ^  y 

the  road,  and  ^^.^''^'^  jV>Pping  to  se<W>n.    The 
space,  went  ^^^^-^^'^"^^^  skvp  out  of  his 


,ii 


» I 


t 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 


I' 


smilinK  like  a  red  Aujs^iist  moon;  and  the  msty  old 
fellow,  without  wrinkling  his  pallid  face,  or  twink- 
ling his  deep-set,  bleared  little  eyes,  or  unbending 
his  attitude,  managed  to  convey  to  us,  when  he  re- 
marked that  it  would  be  a  fair  day,  that  his  disposi- 
tion was  amiable  and  his  inclination  toward  com- 
panionable behavior  of  the  best. 

It  was  broad  day  when  we  approached  the  first 
post -change.  Warm,  yellow  sunlight,  a  fine  abun- 
dance of  it,  flooded  the  dusty  read  and  flecked  the 
open  reaches  of  the  bush.  At  that  moment  there 
was  a  stirring  on  the  floor  of  the  coach — the  stirring 
of  a  small,  living  body,  to  be  sure,  earnestly  endeav- 
oring to  emerge  from  under  the  rear  scat,  and  in 
somewhat  wrathful  im])aticnoe  with  a  tangled  bar- 
rier of  feet  and  legs.  Was  it  profanity  we  heard? — 
or  a  more  or  less  innocent  wheeze  of  angry  breath? 
I  recalled  then  that  a  rumpled  horse-blanket  had 
occupied  the  rear  seat,  in  the  dark  of  our  departure 
from  the  inn,  which  seemed  to  enfold  a  great  leg  of 
mutton  or  a  small  shoulder  of  beef;  and  as  the  rear 
seat  was  no  place  at  all  for  either  a  shoulder  of 
beef  or  a  leg  of  mutton,  we  had  tumbled  it  to  the 
n(M)r,  blanket  and  all,  and  kicked  it  out  of  the  way. 
With  the  jouncing  of  the  eoaeh  it  had  persistently 
returned  to  trouble  our  comfort;  and  we  had  as 
])ersislently  heeled  it  back  (with  the  violence  of 
aggravation)  —and  the  florid  man  and  the  rusty  fel- 
low had  t(K'd  it  back  (so  that  at  times  we  were  en- 
gaged in  a  concerted  assault  and  battery  uix)n  it)  — 
to  make  room  for  our  feet  in  the  sj)aee  which  our  feet 
had  hiwful  title  to  oeeu])y.  And  now  it  turned  out 
to  be  neither  a  large  leg  of  mutton  nor  a  small 
shoulder  of  beef,  but  a  sullen  little  half-caste  boy, 

142 


THE    KING'S    HIGHWAY 

as  sullen  as  ever  I  knew,  who  said  that  he  was  the 
spare-boy,  and  demanded  opportunity  for  instant 
exit,  else  how  (says  he)  could  he  get  into  action  when 
the  coach  drew  up  at  the  post-change,  now  less  than 
a  hundred  yards  ahead?  How  in  the  world  he  had 
kept  asleep  through  the  jolting  of  the  coach  and  the 
brutal  treatment  of  our  exasperation  was  not  to  be 
explained  by  any  wit  that  we  had;  but  the  mystery 
of  this — which  sufficiently  entertained  us — was  fair- 
ly dwarfed  by  the  myster>'  of  how  he  had,  in  that 
blind  comer,  managed  to  wake  up  to  his  duty 
precisely  without  another  instant  to  spare. 

"Blackfellow  blood,"  the  rusty  old  fellow  ex- 
plained. 

"Knows  ever>-  hump  and  bumji  of  the  road,"  de- 
clared the  florid  man.     "A  touch  of  color,  sir." 

We  went  galloping  helter-skelter  down  a  long, 
slow  hill.  The  coach  rolled  like  a  ship  in  a  sea- 
way. Here  was  the  last  little  stretch  of  the  first 
.stage.  There  was  no  sparing  the  beasts.  It  was  a 
.sjuirt.  "(jid-ap!"  yelled  the  fut  coachman.  "(Vlong, 
you  beauties!"  And  he  flourished  and  cracked  his 
whi]),  like  a  man  with  a  rare  to  win,  in  a  desperate 
finish,  and  halooed,  and  clucked,  and  stamped  his 
feet,  and  sh(X)k  his  ribbons;  and  the  horses,  heads 
down,  ears  flat,  all  on  the  jimi]),  exi)ended  the  last 
breath  th(>y  had  to  oblige  his  urgc'nt  humor.  All  at 
once  we  drew  iij)  short  and  gasping  beside  a  great 
bush-i)addock,  into  one  comer  of  wliich.  fencx^d  high 
and  furnished  with  step-rails,  the  coach-boy,  who 
had  ri(l(kn  ahead,  had  already  rounded  u])  the  re- 
lay. There  was  a  fine  da.sh  in  the  thing-  in  the 
nish  and  dust  and  rearing  halt :  yet  there  was  tkj- 
body    to   applaud   our   si)irited    arrival    (the   post- 

'43 


% 


T    ■ 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 


h 


1 

:c 


change   was   deep   in    the  bush)— except  the   little 
willy-wagtails   ami   a   flock   of   stupid    parrots.     A 
laughing-jackass  passed  a  word  or  two  of  comment; 
but  this  was  in  the  way  of  contemptuous  criticism— 
as  though  we  might  have  done  more  brilliantly. 
Smart  work,  now,  you  may  believe:  coachman  and 
coach-boy  and  half-caste  fell  upon  the  horses  in  a 
fury  of  haste,  and  stripped  them  and  slapped  them 
steaming  into  the  paddock;    and   the   fresh   relay 
was  led  out  and  strapped  and  buckled  to  the  coach- 
all  in  a  disciplined  way,  without  a  waste  of  seconds. 
The  half-caste  boy  caught  the  heads  of  the  leaders; 
the  coachman  clambered  to  the  box  and  gathered 
up  the  reins;    the  coach-boy  grasped  the  mane  of 
his  riding-hack,  and  was  away,  in  puffs  of  dust,  with 
one  foot  in  the  stirrup  and  a  bare  leg  in  the  air. 
"Right-o,  sonny!"  says  the  coachman.     The  half- 
caste  boy  droi)i)cd  the  heads  of  the  leaders  and  came 
scurrying  back.     And  the  whip  cracked.     "Gid-a])! 
Wheet,  wheet!     G'long,  you  beauties!"     The  leaders 
reared;   the  steady  wheel-pair  buckled  to  the  labor; 
and  we  moved  off  with  a  jerk  and  swung  at  a  gallop 
into  the  bush  road. 

We  were  the  Royal  Mail;  and  the  Royal  Mail- 
in  the  remotest  places  of  all  the  wide  world— moves 
importantly  and  with  expedition. 

"Smart  work."  says  the  fat  coachman.  "We'll  go 
through  on  time." 

In  the  nick  of  time  we  had  caught  the  hapless 
little  half-caste  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck— he  was 
clinging  like  a  monkey  between  the  wheels- and 
hauled  him  inboard. 

Clear  the  road  for  the  Royal  Mail!    The  Royal 

144 


'(•i : 


THE    KINGS    HIGHWAY 

Mail  is  for  over  in  haste.  It  miisl  j^o  throuRh.  And 
here  is  a  sinj^ular  (U-votinn:  it  takes  no  aeeount  of 
hardship,  small  thought  of  i>eril,  but  considers  duty. 
Wherever  the  Royal  Mail  i)enctrates — desert,  forest, 
jungle,  ice-field,  wild  autumn  seas — and  however 
transported — dog-team,  whaleboat,  eamcl-train,  the 
backs  of  savages  —  it  goes  with  its  own  dignity; 
and  thought  of  the  round  world,  flashing  over  the 
British  outlands,  in  a  swift  vision,  discovers  it  for 
ever  moving,  indomitably,  securely,  urgently — going 
through,  and  doing  its  level  best,  with  cunning, 
courage,  and  prodigal  energ>',  to  go  through  on  time. 
Here  were  we,  in  the  coaching  country  of  the  Aus- 
tralian back-blocks,  remote  from  observation;  but 
smart  work  was  the  word  for  the  rattletrap  Royal 
Mail — smart  work  ani  a  her^rty  pride  in  smart  work: 
so  that  what  would  have  been  a  dull  journey,  accom- 
plished with  groaning  and  sighs,  had  speed  been  of 
no  consequence,  and  a  moving  clock  no  master, 
seemed  now,  so  exhilarating  was  the  behavior  of 
the  coach,  as  we  galloi)ed  into  the  green  lowlands, 
to  promise  an  acceptable  adventure,  in  the  complex 
nature  of  a  i)atriotic  achievement  and  a  race  against 
time.  Subseciuently,  going  north,  in  these  parts, 
we  traveled  by  other  coaches — private  enterprises, 
these,  to  catch  pounds  and  iK.mce  where  the  Mail 
was  booked  up;  and  our  coaches  were  slovenly,  our 
beasts  of  poor  quality,  our  passage  not  hailed  and 
respected,  our  way  a  lazy  going,  with  leisure  to  pause 
for  gossip  in  the  encounters  of  the  road,  time  to 
stretch  and  smoke  and  talk  horseflesh  at  the  post- 
changes.  Invariably,  however,  the  Royal  Mail  was 
taken  seriously  by  the  folk  of  the  highways  and 
inns — by  all  creatures,  indeed,  except  the  laughing- 


Q 


i 


"'^n 


.ii 


■■■■\ 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

jackasses,  which,  wretched  birds,  being  constitu- 
tionally incapable  of  anything  better  than  jeering 
cachination,  made  game  of  us,  and  would  have 
ridiculed  even  the  Person  of  Royalty,  traveling  the 
king's  own  highway! 


il 


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f, 


I 


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i 


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i   : 


XXV 

"smoke  it  up!" 

FRESH  and  eager,  the  new  relay  took  the  road 
with  spirit,  to  the  delight  of  the  fat  coachman, 
who  flecked  their  flanks  and  ears,  to  indicate  his 
interest,  and  whistled  encouragement,  and  chirruped 
affectionate  praise.  And  in  response  to  these  stimu- 
lating communications  the  four  snorted  and  jingled 
and  added  something  of  vigor  to  what  appeared  to 
be  a  determined  endeavor  to  shake  the  rattletrap 
Royal  Mail  to  fragments  and  scatter  the  passengers 
in  the  dust.  "Smoke  it  up,  you  Ijcauties!"  says 
the  fat  coachman ;  and  smoke  that  road  his  beauties 
did — a  rolling  yellow  cloud  behind.  It  seemed  we 
were  flying:  there  was  the  illusion  of  breakneck 
speed,  due,  no  doubt,  to  the  swaying  of  the  coach, 
which  threatened  instant  disaster,  and  to  the  crack 
of  the  whip,  and  to  the  fat  coachman's  "Gid-ap!" 
and  to  the  commotion  of  hoof -beats;  but  of  course 
the  most  decrepit  of  motor-cars,  ex])cnding  the  same 
measure  of  effort,  would  have  made  a  snail  of  our 
pretensions.  And  so  galloping,  it  coming  near  nine 
o'clock,  we  cantered,  at  last,  into  a  sunlit  open.  A 
long  lift  of  road  lay  ahead,  reaching  slowly  to  the 
crest  of  a  ridge;  and  there  a  small  figure  popjx'd 
into  view,  waved  a  hat  against  the  blue  sky  beyond, 

147 


i 


III 


li 


MICROCOPY   RESOIUTION   TEST  CHART 

(ANSI  ond  ISO  TEST  CHART  No   2) 


1^ 

1^ 

|X6 

1^ 

140 

III  2.0 

/APPLIED  IIVHGE     Inc 

■*  '■'    i  js'    Mot.    '■■-^.^I 

~-,h»iSt»r       So*      T,-.P|,  -AtiOy  ubA 

■'61  •a;     ofloo     Phon# 

■'6)   ^88      *i989      fa. 


\l 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

and  vanished  over  the  hill,  leaving  a  spurt  of  dust 
to  describe  the  speed  of  his  errand.  In  consequence 
of  the  alertness  of  this  little  lookout,  when  we  drew 
up  at  the  Range  House — a  bit  of  shanty,  a  touch  of 
green  paint,  and  a  brilliant  flowering  vine,  alone  at 
the  roadside  near  the  edge  of  the  ridge — a  breakfast 
of  steak  and  onions,  witli  fried  potatoes  and  coffee, 
and  with  marmalade  and  toast,  was  already  laid 
out— the  most  savory-  brealvfast  to  be  imagined: 
upon  which  we  fell  at  once,  you  may  believe,  the 
florid  man  with  exceeding  voracity,  being  now  wide 
awake  and  capable  of  exercising  his  obvious  quality 
as  a  trencher-man,  while  the  coachman  and  the 
coach-boy  and  the  sullen  little  half-caste  took  out 
the  exhausted  horses  and  went  to  breakfast  in  the 
kitchen. 

"All  aboard,  gentlemen!"  says  the  coach-boy. 

"My  word!"  puffed  the  florid  man. 

We  were  at  a  canter  in  the  bush  beyond  before 
the  florid  man  had  fairly  wiped  his  lips  and  com- 
manded his  indignation;  and  the  fat  coachman,  his 
weather  eye  jjlcased  with  the  prospect,  was  singing 
again— "Flash  Jack  from  Gundagai"  and  "The  Old 
Bullock  Dray."  Long  after  noon,  having  by  this 
time  changed  three  times  more,  twice  at  lonely  pad- 
docks in  the  bush.  Twenty  Mile  Gully  and  Bottle 
Tree  Creek  (there  was  neither  gully  nor  creek  to  be 
seen),  and  once  near  the  slip-rails  and  dipping-pen 
of  some  wealthy  cattle-station,  and  always  with  the 
precision  of  a  drill — the  day  being  now  blue  and  dry 
ami  hot  and  all  the  bush  drowsy  in  the  summer 
weather — we  had  leisure  to  dine  at  a  coaching-inn. 
It  was  a  mean  place,  ])erhaps,  but  the  chief  public- 
house  of  the  day's  stage  of  that  highwav,  and  a 

148 


"SMOKE    IT   UP!" 

proud  one:  a  little  yard  of  gravel  and  brown  grass, 
a  low,  long  house,  with  a  hot  iron  roof,  a  projecting 
lantern,  a  post  and  blistered  sign,  a  deal  bar,  a  talka- 
tive landlady,  stablemen,  and  a  swarm  of  house-flies. 
A  stockman,  knocking  down  his  check — expending 
his  wages,  that  is,  over  the  deal  bar — and  now  near 
the  end  of  his  cash  and  welcome — slightly  inter- 
rupted the  somnolence  of  the  time  and  locality. 
The  dull  ebullitions  of  his  orgie  evoked  no  genuine 
interest  (he  was  a  slow-wit  in  his  cups);  and  the 
landlady — who  might  at  least  have  had  the  grace 
to  contribute  a  smile  to  the  joy  of  his  holiday — 
served  him  listlessly,  wishing  haste  to  his  spending, 
it  seemed,  and  himself  gone  back  to  the  labor  of  his 
station.  A  blacksmith's  forge,  and  a  second  habita- 
tion, with  beggarly  outbuildings,  made  a  town  of 
the  place.  And  town  it  was,  truly,  with  a  cherished 
pastime,  in  the  way  of  all  Australian  towns,  as  we 
confirmed — with  another  lost  hamlet  within  sport- 
ing distance,  half -day's  reach  of  a  riding-hack:  for 
a  manuscript  notice,  posted  in  the  bar,  announced 
a  cricket-match,  presently  to  be  ])layed  against  Dry 
Creek,  and  "earnestly  requested"  all  the  town  "to 
roll  up,  for  the  honor  of  the  town,  and  team  will  be 
picked  from  the  field." 


ii 


i^- 


I- 1 


!■* 


XXVI 


A    BUTCHER  S   PHILOSOPHY 


\l 


ll 


■(-■ 


A  LL  afternoon  the  road  flowed  under  our  reckless 
■*»•  wheels.  We  sped.  A  gray-green,  ragged  bush 
—  always  a  gray -green,  ragged  bush  —  swung  to 
the  rear  and  vanished  in  the  dust  of  our  passage. 
There  was  the  bush  poet's  blithe  "grind  of  wheels 
on  gravel,  the  trot  of  horses'  feet— the  trot,  trot, 
trot,  and  canter."  It  was  no  fenced,  kept  highway, 
but  a  winding  course  through  the  bush — hill,  gully, 
dry  watercourse,  and  flatland — sand,  gravel,  and 
black  loam;  and  the  bush  grew  close — an  open, 
grassy,  sunlit  bush,  of  box-trees,  oak,  blackbutt, 
spotted-gum,  string>'-bark,  bottle-trees,  ^mih  patches 
of  thick  scrub,  which  were  tangled  and  dark  as  a 
jungle.  Our  journey  was  in  eight  stages,  twelve 
miles  to  a  stage — a  matter  of  ninety-six  miles  of 
variable  highroad;  and  as  we  traveled  a  coach  and 
four,  thirty-two  horses,  with  the  coach-boy's  four 
riding-hacks— thirty-six  horses  in  all— drew  the 
Royal  Mail  that  day.  Wheelers  and  leaders  came 
exhausted  to  the  post-changes  and  were  turned  out 
to  browse  themselves  into  condition  again;  they 
went  to  their  brief  labor  with  a  leap,  when  the  fat 
coachman  first  cracked  his  whip,  and  sweated  and 
snorted  and  pawed,  like  race-horses,  at  the  end  of 


ll' 


A   BUTCHER'S    PHILOSOPHY 

the  last  dash.  Grass-fed  beasts  (said  the  fat  coach- 
man): they  fended  for  themselves  in  the  paddocks; 
and  they  were  soft,  good  for  one  stage  at  least— for 
two  stages,  most  of  them— a  week.  Not  that  they 
were  beasts  of  poor  quality!  My  word!  we  were 
not  to  think  so !  They  were  beasts  of  most  excellent 
quality — we  could  see  for  ourselves  (said  the  fat 
coachman);  and  the  standard  of  that  excellence 
was  maintained  by  occasional  purchase  and  fre- 
quent clever  trading.  As  the  Mail  made  three 
round  trips  a  week,  with  the  best  of  luck,  in  the 
very  best  weather,  the  mail  contractor,  whom  the 
fat  coachman  served,  kept  one  hundred  and  six- 
teen horses  in  his  paddocks  and  stables,  meaning 
to  "get  through"  with  that  degree  of  expedition 
and  regularity  which  should  assure  him  the  good- 
will of  the  countryside  and  a  continuance  of  the 
government's  favor. 

It  was  an  exhilarating  thing,  now  that  we  had  set- 
tled to  the  nimble  and  jolt  of  it— thus  to  travel  in 
the  ancient  mode,  and  to  catch,  here  unspoiled  and 
inevitable,  the  flavor  of  the  long  highway.  The 
sky  was  blue  over  the  road,  blue  beyond  the  shaggy 
tree-tops;  and  the  clatter  of  hoofs,  and  the  rattle 
of  wheels,  and  the  fat  coachman's  "Gid-ap,  you 
beauties!"  were  pleasant  sounds  to  hear,  and  we 
made  a  breeze  of  our  noisy  speed  and  left  our  dust 
to  trouble  others.  Post-riders,  waiting  by  the  road- 
side, here  and  there,  mounted  when  we  came  canter- 
ing into  view;  and  having  exchanged  a  word  of  the 
news  with  the  fat  coachman,  and  having  taken  their 
small  sacks  from  the  little  half-caste,  they  spurred 
away  on  their  far  routes,  vanishing  in  the  bush. 
We  p  issed  a  selector's  primitive  home,  and  got  a 
u  151 


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it 


I 


I  \ 


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.1 
♦I 

'A 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

stare  from  his  worn  wife-hapless  woman-and  a 
wave  and  a  shrill  cheer  from  his  forlorn  little  family, 
and  after  that  we  glimpsed  the  low  roof  and  wide 
white  porehes  of  a  cattle-station,  established  in  the 
midst  of  its  many  thousands  of  green  acres  oi  succu- 
lent bush,  and  presently  drew  up  to  pass  the  time 
of  day  with  the  gray,  strapping  owner,  a  man  ot 
land  and  social  importance,  now  in  condescending 
company  with  a  swagman.  and  with  the  dnver  of  a 
wool-team,  whose  many  spans  of  horses  were  rest- 
ing at  the  foot  of  the  hill.     At  the  next  post-change 
we  found  a  bullock  team,  in  charge  of  a  deaf  old 
grandfather  and  the  leanest  little  grandson  that  ever 
wore  leggings  and  spurs-some  tons  of  wool  and 
twenty-four  bullocks— the  outfit  gone  into  camp  for 
the  night,  the  biUv-can  boiling,  the  damper  (a  scone 
of  flour  and  water  baked  in  hot  ashes)  in  preparation, 
the  bullocks  being  unspanned  to  graze  their  owri 
fodder;  and  now,  indeed,  we  could  better  apprehend 
the  pomp  and  speed  of  the  Royal  Mail:  for  the  bul- 
lock team  (said  the  fat  coachman)  had  these  nine 
days  past  been  on  the  way  through  the  twenty 
miles  that  remained  of  our  day's  run.        ,.    ,    , 

"Gran'fer's  so  slow,"  growled  the  lean  httle  boy, 
"that  I  cawn't  m'yke  out  whether  'e's  goin  or 
comin'." 

All  this  time  the  florid  man,  a  reticent  companion, 
from  shyness.  I  think-he  was  a  Brisbane  butcher 
(said  he)  and  bound  out  to  buy  cattle  for  his  stalls- 
had  agreed  with  whatever  was  said.  "Quite  so! 
says  he  It  was  a  pleasant  thing,  in  the  beginning, 
to  find  him  not  too  disputatious ;  but  as  the  day  wore 
along,  so  intimate  was  our  situation,  and  so  m  need 

152 


A    BUTCHER'S    PHILOSOPHY 

of  distracting  conversation  were  we  to  cut  short  the 
rough  length  of  these  last  hours,  we  fancied  his  com- 
pany would  have  b^en  more  agreeable  had  he  been 
disposed  to  contriL...e  a  contrary  notion  or  two  to 
feed  the  languishing  discussions.  Not  once  was  his 
caution  entrapped.  "Quite  so!"  says  he.  And, 
"Quite  so!" — with  an  owlish  appearance  of  wisdom, 
assumed  to  indulge  us,  wc  complained,  his  wits  be- 
ing elsewhere,  gathering  wool  of  some  precious  sort, 
which  he  would  not  share  with  us.  It  was  not  that 
he  seemed  to  have  no  mind  to  employ;  he  seemed 
rather  to  have  better  occupation  for  his  mind  than 
we  could  provide — price  of  beef  on  the  hoof,  rise 
and  fall  of  cold-storage  mutton,  Argentine  com- 
petition in  the  British  market,  the  invasion  of 
American  refrigerating  plants,  the  establishment  of 
great  Queensland  tanneries  with  American  capital, 
and  such  important  matter — and  to  be  engaging  his 
thought  so  busily  that  he  could  not  spare  the  small- 
est moment  of  it  for  the  trivial  exchanges  of  the 
road.  "Quite  so!"  says  he.  And,  "Quite  so!"— 
returning  abruptly  to  distant  fields  of  reflection. 
We  should  have  thought  him  churlish  had  not  this 
queer  habit  of  agreement  entertained  us  with  its 
own  perfection— with  the  hopeful  expectation,  too, 
that  it  would  at  any  moment  break  in  a  lusty  con- 
tention. And  at  last,  moved  by  the  rusty  old  fel- 
low, the  florid  man  dropped  an  original  comment. 
In  the  course  of  years,  a  man's  business  will  teach 
him  at  least  a  little  of  philosophical  truth— a  little 
of  truth,  obtruding  again  and  again,  perceived  often, 
confirmed  a  thousand  times,  and  at  last  establish- 
ing itself,  like  a  fact  of  the  physical  universe;  and 
dealing  with  death,  as  the  Brisbane  butcher  did,  he 

153 


t  1 1 


!^ 


i'l 


I' 


If 


I' 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

had  learned  something  true  concerning  it,  in  a  gen- 
eral way.  ,      „. 

We  passed  a  small  mob  of  sheep,  dawdlmg  con- 
tent through  the  dust,  on  the  way  to  the  mutton- 
market.  . 

"For  slaughter,"  said  the  flond  man. 

We  all  of  us— the  rusty  old  fellow  observed,  with 
a  sanctimonious  wag,  and  a  doleful  sigh,  too— are 
like  sheep  driven  to  the  slaughter.  , 

"I  reckon,"  the  florid  man  drawled,  that  it  don  t 
matter  very  much  to  the  sheep." 

Taken  deeply,  it  was  profoundest  wisdom— the 
wisdom  of  the  stars.  Surely  a  man  will  not  discover 
in  his  own  death  a  complete  disaster  to  himself.  It 
will  not  matter  very  much. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  we  completed 
the  last  stage  of  the  day  and  cantered  with  our  dust 
into  the  little  town  of  our  destination.     The  sun  was 
low,  then,  and  first  beginning  to  swell  and  flush- 
the  shadows  remaining  still  long  and  black.    Ml  the 
little  scrubbers— the  sun-browned,  rosy,  hearty  chil- 
dren of  the  place-were  at  play  on  the  green  common 
after  supper,  and  calling  cows  in  the  pastures,  and 
stripped  naked  and  dripping  in  the  swimming-holc 
a  black  pool  below  the  bridge.     It  was  a  pastoral 
village,   communicating  with  the  worid  by  coach, 
far  away  from  any  railroad— a  gathering  of  cottages, 
with  picket  fences  and  pretty  dooryards,  some  near 
covercd  with   a   luxuriant   flowering  vme,   and   all 
drawn  near  the  four  corners  where  the  general  store 
was,  and  the  saddler's  shop,  and  the  blacksmiths 
forge,  and  the  wheelwright's  shed,  and  the  inn  and 
the  public-house,  and  the  police-station  and  the  post- 

154 


A    BUTCHER'S    PHILOSOPHY 


oflficc,  with  something  in  the  way  of  a  town  hall,  no 
doubt,  which  I  have  forgotten.  Our  dash  was  not 
diminished,  but  enlivened  with  larger  importance 
and  new  fire,  here  at  the  end  of  the  run,  where  the 
fat  coachman  lived.  We  swung  from  the  highroad 
at  full  gallop,  the  coach  on  two  wheels,  the  horses 
sweating  and  straining — a  spirited  spectacle  for  the 
waiting  villagers.  And  we  were  boarded  in  a  rush 
from  the  common.  There  were  cries  of,  "Whip  be- 
hind!" But  the  fat  coachman  had  more  urgent  use 
for  his  whip  th.  i  to  fleck  half  a  dozen  little  shavers 
from  the  springs  and  luggage-rack  with  it:  he  was 
cracking  it  over  the  heads  of  the  leaders  as  we  rolled 
into  the  yard  of  the  inn — but  whether  to  agitate 
their  speed  or  to  restrain  their  devilish  behavior 
was  a  mystery  for  his  own  enjoyment.  And  here 
we  drew  up,  with  a  last  amazing  jolt,  before  a  com- 
fortable inn,  with  spacious  porches,  all  the  odors  of 
a  waiting  table  emerging  to  i>ase  our  weariness  and 
entice  a  good  humor  to  the  arrival. 

Down  came  the  fat  coachman  from  the  box. 

"Pleasant  trip,"  said  I. 

"Not  too  bad,"  said  he.  "I've  been  as  much  as 
ten  days  coming  through." 

"In  the  rains?"  said  I. 

"In  a  spell  of  dry  weather,  once,"  said  he,  lightly, 
"I  came  through  in  six  hours  and  forty  minutes." 

And  the  coach -boy  winked  at  the  half-castt — 
and  the  half-caste  put  his  tongue  in  his  cheek. 


I 


XXVII 


A   SKELETON    BUSH 

NEXT  day  we  coached  along  — not  now  aboard 
the   Royal   Mail,  but   in  a   shabby  democrat 
wagon,  a  privately  operated  coach,  known  as  the 
"Billy  Bullet."     Near  dusk  it  began  to  ram     A 
Queensland  shower,  this-a  swift  drenching  of  the 
bushlands.     Night  was  now  do^\'n.     It  was  black 
dark  in  the  coach.    The  horses  were  exhausted  to  a 
dispirited  trot.    And  we  four  passengers  were  limp. 
A  highroad  rough  with  ruts  and  stones  pounced  and 
shook  us.     A  black  wind  blew  in-chiU  and  wet 
And  the  coach  leaked  pertinacious  little  tnckles  ot 
black  rain:    so  that-here  cowering  helpless  m  the 
like  of  a  dark  shower-bath— we  had  no  dry  thmg 
uoon    us.     "Gid-ap!"    says   the   coachman.    And 
"Gid-ap'"    And,  "Gid-ap!"    And  nothing  came  of 
if  nor  had  the  coachman  the  least  expectation  that 
anything  would  come  of  it.    But,  "Gid-ap!     says 
he     And.  "Gid-ap!"    And  in  this  way  we  rattled 
and  splashed  and  jolted  along  toward  the  refuge  of 
an  expected  inn.     No  wise  traveler  woula  yield  his 
spirit  to  these  incidents  of  discomfort,  but  would 
employ  his  imagination-without  an  abundant  meas- 
ure of  which  no  traveler  of  any  sort  should  essay 
a  passage  of  the  byways  of  the  worid-to  withdraw 

156 


'!. 


.! 


A    SKELETON    BUSH 

him  from  the  ills  of  the  time.  He  would  contem- 
plate, to  be  sure,  not  the  rainy  night,  not  the  pains 
of  the  road,  but  the  lights  and  company  of  the  ex- 
pected inn,  and  the  good  green  bounty  to  come  to 
the  bushlands  of  all  this  dripping  misery.  And 
thus  we — surveying  the  grassy,  sunlit  future  of  the 
paddocks:  until,  ahead  in  the  dark  of  the  road,  a 
point  of  light,  flaring  in  the  midst  of  a  glowing  little 
globe  of  rain,  indicated  that  Forty  Mile  Inn  was  at 
last  within  hail.  And  at  Forty  Mile  Inn,  being  now 
cramped  and  bruised  and  sodden,  we  alighted,  de- 
siring a  share  of  that  refreshment  for  man  and  beast, 
to  be  had  within,  which  the  sign  of  the  place  prom- 
ised belated  travelers. 

A  landlady  of  uncomely  aspect  somewhat  discour- 
aged our  anticipation. 

"Coffee-room?"  says  the,  listlessly. 

"Coffee-room!" 

We  had  not  ordered  supper:  we  had  required  the 
superior  hospitality  of  the  inn. 

In  the  morning  of  that  day  we  had  come  trotting 
at  easy  leisure  through  as  drear  a  stretch  of  bush  as 
could  any^\'here  be  found.  All  open,  like  a  kept  park, 
this  bush  was  upstanding,  perfect  in  trunk  and 
branch,  the  grasses  fresh  and  flourishing  knee-high, 
and  no  scar  of  fire  to  be  descried;  but  every  tree 
was  dead — as  dead  as  dry  bones,  and  clean  and 
bleached  white,  like  an  articulated  skeleton.  It  was 
a  ghastly  spectacle.  A  night  passage,  in  the  white 
light  of  the  moon,  would  surely  make  a  man's  flesh 
creer) — a  stark,  gray  forest,  and  the  rattle  and  creak 
of  its  dry  limbs,  and  the  wind  wandering  past, 
moaning  and  whispering  and  whimpering,  as  the 

157 


/  r. 


f  II 


•  ( 


I 


.1 


1        I 


r 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

wind  will,  given  half  a  chance  to  frighten  timid  folk. 
It  was  nothing  at  all  to  fancy  that  a  gigantic  natu- 
ralist had  here  expressed  some  eccentric  notion- 
had  designed  to  exhibit  to  the  passengers  of  that 
highroad  the  anatomy  of  the  Queensland  bush.    We 
wondered  why  any  settler  should  work  such  wide 
destruction— what   wisdom  lay   in   killing   all   this 
mighty  timber;    and  we  learned,   then,   from  the 
amiable  coachman,  that  the  death  of  these  great 
trees  had  been  dealt  to  give  the  grasses  more  life— 
the  vitality  of  all  the  rain.     It  was  a  ring-barked 
bush  (said  he).     They  had  cut  a  broad  band  of  bark 
from  every  trunk,  near  the  root,  in  the  AustraUan 
way  of  improving  the  land ;  and  the  leaves  had  fallen, 
and  the  bark  had  gone  to  shreds  and  been  blown 
j^^vay_and  the  trees,  like  dead  men,  who  ask  noth- 
ing of  the  world's  bounty,  drew  no  moisture  from  the 
ground,  needing  none,  but  left  it  to  sustain  the 
grasses  for  the  cattle. 

These  were  not  the  surely  watered  and  fertile 
Queensland  miles— the  comparatively  inconsequen- 
tial  fruit -acres   and   sugar -lands.     It   was  cattle 
country,  and  sheep  country,  too;  but  hereabouts  it 
was  mean  land— a  perishing  land.     The  good  pas- 
tures, new  and  near  free,  where  the  stock  grows  into 
money  (said  they),  and  any  young  man,  with  the 
heart  and  patience  of  the  fathers,  can  be  wealthy 
at  middle  age.  like  the  grayheads  of  these  days— 
these  good  places  lay  deeper  north  and  west,  where 
the  frontiers  are,  with  the  world  lapping  out  to  them, 
like  a  tide.     Nor  near  by  where  then  we  coached 
was  there  any  very  vast  station,  but  humbler  ones, 
not  of  the  maj^nitude  of  the  incredible,  established 
estates   of   the    Darling "  River   country,   the   New 

I.S8 


1  ii 


A    SKELETON    BUSH 


a 


fe? 


South  Wales  back-blocks,  to  which  the  third  gen- 
eration returns,  nowadays,  from  the  English  schools 
and  universities,  with  the  natural  habit  of  leisure, 
and  with  affectations  of  a  sort  to  startle  the  patri- 
archs— ^not  the  million -acre  runs,  hereabouts,  and 
the  ten-mile  paddoi  ks,  and  the  three  hundred  thou- 
sand head  of  stock,  and  the  swarm  of  herders  and 
boundary-riders  and  managers  and  jackaroos,  and 
the  racing-stables  and  jockeys  and  hunters,  imd  the 
tutors  and  music-mnsters  and  retainers-in-general. 
It  may  be  that  in  the  end  these  amazing  holdings 
will  be  the  material  of  romance:  for  the  govern- 
ment docs  not  hesitate  to  seize  them  and  throw  them 
open  for  what  is  called  closer  settlement.  At  any 
rate,  here  was  none.  The  land  was  for  the  small 
selector — blocks  of  twentv-five  hundred  acres,  which 
he  might  have  for  a  shilling  an  acre,  pcrhajis,  or  for 
nothing  at  all,  with  the  government's  blessing  to 
boot. 

Prickly-pear  troubled  the  country.  It  was  spread- 
ing with  the  speed  and  blighting  effect  of  a  plague — 
doubling  the  area  of  actual  occupation  every  two 
years,  when  thriving  unchecked.  It  had  spoiled 
ten  thousand  miles  (said  they);  and  it  had  infected 
twenty  million  acres — this  estimate  from  a  Queens- 
land ranger,  whose  busines.^  had  somewhat  to  do 
with  the  pest  and  who  was  far  too  serious  a  fellow, 
it  seemed,  to  take  a  rise  out  of  credulous  travelers. 
"As  for  m.ere  infection,"  said  he,  then,  "I  reckon 
eighty  million  acres  would  be  nearer  the  truth."  I 
I  am  unable  to  swallow  such  a  mouthful  of  ciphers: 
the  reader  may  suit  his  taste  and  capacity — drop- 
ping ciphers  when  surfeited;  but  this  much  is  sure, 
and  significant  of  an  appaUing  arithmetical  result: 

159 


fIR 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

that  in  igio  applications  for  new  prickly-pear  se- 
lections were  accepted  by  the  Queensland  govern- 
ment to  the  extent  of  1,308,170  acres.  The  coach- 
man had  a  pretty  tale  to  account  for  the  presence 
of  the  pear  in  this  alien  land.  It  was  imported 
(said  he)  by  the  good  lady  of  a  station  who  was 
fond  of  curious  plants;  and  it  was  kept  in  a  veranda 
pot,  and  was  nourished  and  greatly  admired,  and 
was  transplanted  to  the  yard,  and  there  fenced  with 
care,  to  keep  it  safe  from  the  stock.  And  then  it 
ran  away — over  the  station  premises  and  into  the 
bush.  'T  like  this  country,"  said  that  prickly-pear, 
according  to  the  coachman's  stor>';  "and  I  reckon 
I'll  settle  here— and  stay."  And  now  they  curse  it, 
and  slash  it,  and  bum  it,  and  poison  it  with  arsenic 
and  soda;  but  it  thrives,  in  spite  of  them,  and  de- 
lights in  its  adopted  country. 

"Just  been  a  Yankee  over  here  to  poison  the 
pear,"  said  the  coachman,  "by  flowing  a  heavy  gas 
through  the  bush." 

"Did  the  gas  kill  the  pear?" 

"Ah,  yes,  and  everything  else,"  said  the  coach- 
man.   "Wheet,  wheet!    G'long,  you!" 


i 


XXVIII 


FORTY  MILE   INN 


WE  had  picked  up  a  jackaroo,  bound  out  from 
his  station  to  the  pleasures  of  Sydney  and  Me- 
bourne — for  a  whack  at  Hfe  (said  he),  and  a  jolly 
smart  whack,  too!  We  had  taken  in  a  drover's  boy, 
returning  homesick  to  his  mother.  We  had  visited 
a  blackfellow's  mission  (reservation)  and  run  a 
losing  race  against  the  rain.  And  now  we  had  fallen 
into  disreputable  lodgings,  as,  in  the  coaching  coun- 
try, travelers  will.  It  is  all  as  it  used  to  be.  No 
man  can  say  that  he  will  be  refreshed  in  the  parlor 
of  one  inn  and  lie  the  night  in  No.  4  of  an- 
other: nor  is  any  journey  come  safely  to  its  end, 
indeed,  until  the  horses  are  drawn  up  in  the  lighted 
yard  of  the  last  inn  of  all.  A  mishap  in  the  dark — 
a  broken  horse,  a  mired  wheel,  the  accident  of  rain 
— and  let  travelers  look  out  for  obscure  wayside 
taverns  and  queer  lodgings.  A  glimpse  of  the  bar 
of  this  low  jniblic-house — the  smoky  lamplight  and 
drear  board  walls  and  shelves — disheartened  us  in 
respect  to  the  quality  of  its  entertainment.  At  the 
moment  of  our  arrival  three  stockmen  were  in  the 
last  rumble  of  a  roar  of  laughter;  and  a  barmaid, 
with  her  head  furiously  back,  was  shrilling  a  ver>' 
naughty   complaint   of  some   indelicacy   they   had 

161 


t 


I) 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

dropped — a  word  or  two,  perhaps,  beyond  the  usual 
license.  By  this  the  stockmen  were  silenced  and 
abashed,  like  mischievous  children,  even  before  a 
bleared  little  stable-boy  had  time  to  gather  up  our 
dripping  luggage,  or  the  landlady  had  bidden  us  fol- 
low to  the  parlor:  whereupon  the  flash  barmaid's 
anger,  at  once  appeased  by  the  blushes  and  stricken 
behavior  of  the  three  stockmen,  ran  into  a  scream  of 
merriment  more  terrible  than  her  rage.  And  here, 
then,  it  was  plain,  was  no  good  Queensland  inn,  to  put 
up  coaching-folk,  but  a  naked  back-block  pot-house, 
kept  to  serve  the  like  of  stockmen  and  shearers,  in 
the  season  of  spending  (which  was  not  now),  who 
must  find  pleasure  in  their  cups,  or  have  no  pleasure, 
at  all  to  their  liking,  to  reward  their  labor. 

We  followed  the  landlady,  with  the  bleared  little 
stable-boy  at  our  heels,  to  a  musty  parlor,  where 
she  lighted  candles  for  us,  and  opened  the  door  to 
an  adjoining  dormitory  chamber  furnished  with 
several  beds — shabby,  suspicious  characters,  every 
one  of  them.  A  board  partition,  with  cracks  and 
gaps  and  knot-holes,  was  designed  to  separate  our 
repose  from  the  hilarity  of  the  bar.  There  was  a 
bed  for  each  of  us,  however;  and  a  bed  for  the  young 
jackaroo,  who  was  belated  with  us;  and  a  bed  for 
the  diminutive  drover,  whom  we  had  picked  up  in 
the  happier  hours  of  that  day;  and  there  was  a  last 
bed,  leaning  in  a  comer,  on  doubtful  legs,  for  the 
next  wretched  traveler  whom  the  rainy  night  should 
blow  in.  He  had  already  blown  in,  it  seemed:  we 
heard  him,  then,  in  the  bar,  demanding  lodgings, 
and  demanding  supper,  and  demanding  an  'ostler  to 
stable  his  horse;  and  we  fancied  him  a  harsh  fellow 
— a  man  in  pugnacious  ill  humor  with  being  caught 

163 


FORTY   MILE    INN 

houseless  on  the  deep  black  road.  Had  there  been 
less  to  complain  of,  we  should  have  been  bitter  with 
it  all;  but  so  forlorn  was  our  state  and  expectation, 
in  this  mean  pot-house,  that  when  the  young  jack- 
aroo grinned,  and  th^:-  little  drover  chuckled,  we 
must  break  into  laughter  with  them.  Some  phrases 
of  drunken  melody  followed  upon  our  mirth.  They 
flowed  easily  in  from  the  bar  by  way  of  the  cracks 
and  knot-holes.  And  the  jackaroo  explained  that 
these  snatches  of  song  described  Flash  Jack  from 
Gundagai  as  'avin'  shore  at  big  WillanJra,  au'  shore 
at  Tilbcroo,  an'  once  V  drew  'is  blades,  mc  boys,  upon 
the  famed  Barco — wliich  was  something  more  to 
laugh  at,  and  promised  a  considerable  amusement 
for  the  later  hours. 

All  dr>%  at  last,  and  a  supper  of  hot  mutton-pie 
being  by  this  lime  laid  in  the  parlor,  we  found  some- 
thing to  cheer  us,  but  not  in  the  acquaintance  of  the 
new  guest,  who  was  a  long,  scowling,  hairy  man,  and 
gobbled  up  his  pie,  and  gulped  down  his  tea,  with- 
out saying  a  gracious  word,  and  forthwith  disap- 
peared to  the  veranda.  Our  landlady  attended. 
She  had  no  car  for  our  chatter:  nor  was  she  inter- 
ested in  our  performance  upon  the  hot  mutton-pie — 
neither  to  save  her  victuals  from  an  unusual  vorac- 
ity, in  the  way  of  mean  landladies,  nor  to  urge  us 
on  to  a  still  more  remarkable  feat,  in  the  way  of 
those  ix)rtly  landladies  wliose  good  humor  and 
motherly  inclinations  celebrate  the  hospitality  of 
the  best  inns  of  the  coach-roads.  All  the  while  she 
waited,  she  sat  gloomy  at  the  black  window,  with 
her  elbow  on  the  sill  and  her  chin  in  her  i)alm — 
staring  out,  her  uncomely  visage  fixed  and  blank. 
It  was  hard  to  rouse  her  from  this  melancholy  brood- 

163 


;   1 


i  i> 

I 

i 


ti 


AUSTRALIAN   BYWAYS 

ing     Once,  I  recall,  she  moved  abruptly,  and  made 
as  if  to  dust  the  furniture  with  the  hem  of  her  apron, 
but  seemed  to  reconsider  and  abandon  the  under- 
taking, whatever  it  was,  and  returned  to  the  chair 
at  the  window  and  to  the  dreary  prospect  of  the 
night     A  poor  creature,  she !— a  lean,  elderly  woman, 
in  a  calico  gown,  with  her  meager  gray  hair  m  a 
listless  knot;   and  she  was  somewhat  of  a  slattern, 
too-<ietached  from  all  that  had  to  do  with  the  ap- 
pearances, and  living  with  no  luster  of  concern  with 
affairs  near  by  and  matters  of  the  present.    There 
was  nothing  for  her  to  see  outside— nothing  but  the 
puddles  under  the  projecting  lantern  and  the  rain 
driving  through  the  yellow  light.    I  fancied  that  the 
woman's  abstraction  was  an  habitual  thing— a  way 
of  escape,  perhaps,  from  the  gray  color  of  her  life. 
"•Ad  enough  tucker?"  says  she,  when  we  rose. 
"An  excellent  pie.  m'am!"  I  declared,  to  rouse  her. 
She  said:  "Glad  ye  liked  it."     But  she  was  not  at 
il  glad      She  found  no  smallest  spark  of  pleasure 
in  our  preposterous  flattery  of  that  hot  mutton-pie. 


XXIX 


THE   SCOWLING   MAN 


PRESENTLY  the  rain  let  up  a  little.  The 
steady  rumble  of  it  on  the  iron  roof  fell  away 
to  a  pleasant  patter;  and  the  wind  went  down,  and 
the  sky  began  to  break — disclosing  a  star  or  two. 
Outside  we  foimd  the  long,  scowling  man,  sitting  in 
a  comer  of  the  veranda,  which  was  railed  oflf  from 
the  common  length  to  seclude  genteel  folks  from  an 
intrusive  contiguity  of  the  lusty  patrons  of  the  bar. 
The  scowling  man's  chair  was  tipped  back,  and  his 
feet  were  put  up,  and  his  wide  felt  hat  was  pulled 
down:  so  that  v/hat  we  could  see  of  him  in  that 
poor  lamplight  was  not  much  more  than  his  length 
and  his  whiskers.  He  was  talkative,  now,  after  an 
ill-tempered  fashion  of  conversation,  which  he  must 
himself  command,  to  be  kept  in  a  flowing  humor 
with  it;  and  there  was  something  else  to  remark 
with  astonishment  —  being  this:  that  what  the 
philosophy  of  the  scowling  man  comprehended,  and 
no  matter  what,  was  bloody,  and  not  a  whit  better 
than  bloody,  nor  the  fraction  of  a  degree  worse. 
Whatever  was  good  was  bloody  good,  and  whatever 
was  bad  was  a  bloody  bad  business;  and  with  that 
the  characterization  was  dismissed  as  comijletcly  ac- 
complished.    We  pitied  this  limitation,  rather,  at 

165 


i  I 


•   if 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

fir<;f  for  it  seemed  the  poor  fellow  must  for  ever 

deseribe  whatwas  irksome  to  him  in  too  large  a 

mea  ure  of  discontent,  and  fall  far  short  of  adequa  e 

"ror'^en  it  came  to  the  point  of  condc-mng  that 

which  was  utterly  damnable  m  his  sight.     He  had 

a  ^gu^ar  masteo^  of  inflection,  however;  and  with 

sxich  art  could  he  fondle  this  lone  adjective-and  so 

te^ibtv  explode  it-that  he  could  flavor  his  speech 

like  a  pirate  or  give  Ha  tender  cdon  ^^^^^ 

What  disagreed  with  the  scowmii, 
WIS  the  impending  invasion  of  the   Little   lironn 
Brother- vilh  armies  (said  he)  to  P^-ess  the  tr.n>- 
cal  northern  lands:  these  being  coveted  by  the  Little 
Brown  Briber,  who  must  thrive  in  a  wider  tem- 
for^l  sphere  «;  perish.     And  wherever  we  fo  lowed 
rlutkn  bVways  we  came  ^^^^ 
living  fear  of   Japan-no  peaceful  "^f^l^^^^ion   oy 
immigration    (the  Japanese  are  excluded),    a  ^^ar 
and  mercilessly  grasping  invasion  in  ^^^  ^J^^     ^ 
Pvhibited  itself  in  the  cities,  as  well— m  ne%vspaper 
editorials  and  in  wrathy  letters  to  the  newspapers 
And  ever>'^^^^      was  a  steady  preparation  agamst 
an  event  of  this  nature-not  expressly,  however   a 
an  t-vtuL  KJi  ^^  \„ctrnlinns    are    a    peaceful 

Japanese  ."vaMon  '^^^  o,  Defense,  ad- 
bnsmess  people,  sa^  '^M™  ^^^^  „,  ,„  „,,itrate 
dressing  cadets.        ma  arc  \\l  i^    i  ,<■   .t.„„   „.^. 

on  1  White  Australia?     Of  course  not!     If   then  ^\c 
re  not  pR>pared  to  ari.itrate.  the  only  logical  alter- 
i^ive  i    to  be  prepared  for  war."     in  response  to 
"^U.,  the.e^!nAustndia  a ';univc^a  tinning 
in   the  naval   or  militar>'  forces.       And   no%\    me 
fco^'i^g  man-who  seemed  to  j^-  -^  ^Xd 
tion  with  the  military  service  o    ^"^f  ^^7^^^^^^^^ 
his  bitterness  with  the  opponents  of  this  healtmui 

166 


'J. 


(     i 


<» 


THE    SCOWLING    MAN 

system:  with  fathers  who  complained  that  miHtary 
training  would  demoralize  the  ideals  of  their  sons; 
and  with  mothers  who  feared  for  the  manners  and 
morals  of  their  little  darlings  (said  he)  in  the  pro- 
miscuous association  of  the  parade-ground;  and  with 
all  wowsers— wowsers  being  overly  pious  folk,  whose 
degree  of  piety,  in  this  instance,  would  forbid  a  re- 
sort to  arms  in  any  circumstances  to  be  conceived  of. 
Australian  lads  of  twelve  years  begin  a  more  or 
less  voluntary  form  of  military  training.  It  is  an 
indulgent,  happy-go-lucky  sort  of  thing,  designed 
primarily  to  be  of  physical  advantage.  When  the 
lads  are  foiirteen  years  old,  a  limited  military  ser- 
vice^ is  severely  compulsory,  with  penalties  for 
evasion,  and  fines  laid  upon  employers  and  parents 
who  interfere,  and  thus  continues,  with  physical 
exercises,  drill,  parades,  and  rifle  practice,  for  four 
years,  whereupon  these  cadets  are  passed  into  the 
citizen  forces.  Four  whole-day  drills  are  required 
each  year,  and  twelve  half-day  drills,  and  twenty- 
four  night  drills.  A  perfunctory  attendance  upon 
these  grave  obligations— inapt,  sullen,  frivolous  be- 
havior—counts for  nothing  at  all.  If  the  cadet  fails 
to  be  marked  efficient  by  his  battalion  officers  he 
must  perform  his  service  all  over  again.  In  Kal- 
goorlie  of  Western  Australia— a  great  dust-storm 
blowing  that  night— we  watched  a  column  of  these 
"Httle  conscripts"  (said  a  scoffer)  march  past  with 
rifles  and  bugles  and  drums;  and  they  were  smart 
to  see — brown  uniforms,  with  tricks  of  green,  and 
wide-brimmed  Australian  hats  caught  up  at  the  side 
in  the  Australian  way.  It  is  no  farcical  affair. 
When  we  were  in  Brisbane  of  Queensland  a  score  of 
truant  youngsters  were  packed  off  to  the  military 

13  167 


I' 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

barracks  for  ten  days  of  close  confinement  and  drill; 
and  away  they  went,  in  a  big  Cape  wagon,  in  charge 
of  a  sergeant-major  and  under  escort  of  some  brill- 
iant artillerymen-a  melancholy  little  crew,  these 
truants,  then,  facing  ten  days  of  absence  irom  home, 
with  six  hours  of  drill  on  the  hot  parade-ground, 
under  a  sergeant-major  who  doubtless  knew  how  to 
improve  the  patriotism  of  small  culprits,  and  would 

do  it  with  a  switch. 

What  consternation  —  what  lamentations  —  in  a 

score  of  Brisbane  homes  that  night ! 

"Do  'em  all  good!"  growled  the  scowling  man, 
delighted  with  our  story. 

And  he  went  in  better  heart  to  bed.  He  must  take 
the  road  (said  he)  right  cariy  in  the  morning. 


tl 


'r 


XXX 


THE    SENTIMENTAL   SMITHY 


WE  had  sniffed  no  gasoline  that  day.  We  had 
heard  no  blaring,  scaresomc  demand  to  yield 
the  road  to  our  betters.  Nor  had  we  swallowed  a 
haughty  dust.  Amble,  jog-trot,  and  canter:  these 
had  been  the  three  speeds  forward.  All  travelers 
were  ahorse ;  and  every  horseman  appraised  the  beast 
of  the  other — absorbed,  like  an  old  beau  (we  fancied), 
in  his  survey  of  those  points  of  beauty  and  advan- 
tage which  chiefly  engage  the  cultivated  interest  of 
his  years.  This  was  true  all  Australia  over.  Inter- 
est in  horseflesh  ever>-where  obtruded  itself.  What- 
ever considerable  Australian  city  we  visited  had  its 
too-considerable  race-courses.  In  Kalgoorlie — that 
red  desert  land,  scorched  to  the  roots,  dust-blown 
and  aglare — the  race-track  lawns  were  green  and 
smooth  with  anxious  tending,  and  the  great  flowers 
bloomed,  favored  for  the  spectacle,  watered  without 
measure,  to  delight  the  eye  in  the  occasional  seasons 
of  sport.  All  the  bush  towns,  to  the  least  of  them— 
even  the  midst  of  Tasmania,  the  hill  country,  where 
was  no  town  at  all,  but  a  pitiably  scattered  com- 
munity of  shepherds — cherished  a  course  for  racing 
or  kept  the  space  of  some  paddock  marked  off  with 
stakes.    In  Perth,  and  in  Melbourne  and  Sydney,  at 

i6(; 


If 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

the  time  of  our  passage,  they  were  racing  at  the 
lesser  courses,  though  it  was  the  inimical  month  o 
the  heat  and  dry  winds:  the  bugles  blowmg  without 
heart,  the  flags  limp,  the  jockeys'  parti-colorcd  jack- 
ets soiled,  the  horses  straining  in  the  stretch;  small 
bookmakers,  with  satchels,  er>'ing  the  odds;  little 
boys  wagering  sixpences,  gaming  women  placing 
I>ounds  and  odd  shillings:  sodden  gathermgs,  these, 
of  incorrigible  addicts. 

Now  the  young  jackaroo— bound  out  lor  a  whack 
at  life— described  the  Melbourne  Cup. 

Ah,  my  word  (said  he)— but  the  Melbourne  Cup! 
In  the  fall  of  the  year,  -when  the  winds  blow  better, 
and  the  crisp  weather  gives  a  daredevil  thnll  to 
the  spirit,  and  the  sky  is  blue,  and  the  sun  unfailing 
—it  is  then,  young  fellow,  m'  lad,  that  they  run  the 
Melbourne  Cup!    And  it  is  one  of  the  wide  world  s 
great  spectacles  of  pleasure.    The  fashion  of  the 
town  emerges  to  exhibit  the  quality  and  Enghsh 
flavor  of  its  fashionable  behavior;   and  the  fashion 
of  the  great  estates  swarms  in  from  the  wealthy 
back  country  to  town-the  prettiest,  liveliest  girls 
in  the  worid  (said  the  young   jackaroo),  and    the 
loveliest  mothers,  and   the  very   youngest   grand- 
mothers, and  young  chaps  with  a  sporting  dash  to 
•cm    and  grandfathers  who  know  a  horse  and  a 
whiskT-and-soda  when  they  see  'em,  and  occasion- 
ally, ix;rhaps,  can  hardly  distinguish  the  one  from 
the  other.     It  is  all  true  (the  young  jackaroo  de- 
clared) :  the  bright  eves  and  pretty  blushes,  and  the 
gowns  from  London  and  Paris,  and  the  responsive 
gallantry  of  the  young  chaps  with  a  sporting  dash 
to  'em,  and  the  jovial  old  grayheads— and  the  fash- 
ionable occasions,  as  well,  and  the  magnitude  of  the 

170 


'1. 


THE   SENTIMENTAL   SMITHY 

spectacle,  and  the  smothering  suspense  of  the  race. 
All  Australia  wagers,  and  waits,  and  wagers  again, 
and  shakes  with  apprehension,  and  lays  a  pound  or 
two  more,  and  sputters,  at  last,  like  a  thousand  trails 
of  powder,  from  Melbourne  to  the  remotest  paddocks 
and  deserts,  when  the  ultimate  news  is  loose. 

"Why,  my  dear  fellow,"  the  young  jackaroo  de- 
clared, to  prove  the  importance  of  the  occasion, 
"bookmakers  come  all  the  way  from  London— for 
the  Melbourne  Cup!" 

He  was  very  much  like  a  young  American  de- 
scribing the  delights  of  baseball. 

Presently  the  blacksmith  came  shyly  out  of  the 
drip  of  warm  rain  to  join  our  company  in  the  genteel 
inclosure  of  the  veranda.     He  was  a  big,  gray,  rosy 
man;   and  he  was  now  near  laughably  overflowing 
a  suit  of  decent  black,  word  having  reached  him 
(said  he)  that  uncommon  travelers  were  weather- 
bound at  the  inn— his  Sabbath  wear,  no  doubt,  put 
on,  in  Scotch  pride,  to  show  his  quality,  as  no  low 
bush    roisterer.    A    sentimental    fellow,    this   rosy 
smithy  turned  out  to  be:    he  told  us— near  right 
ji^-ay- that  he  was  a  failure  in  life;  and  said  this 
in  wistful  expectation  of  our  amazement  and  sym- 
pathy, the  thing  being,  in  his  lonely  life,  of  such 
large,  constant  interest  to  himself,  I  am  sure,  that 
he  could  not  think  of  it  as  news  of  inconsequence 
to  anybody.     He  was  the  elder  of  two  Scotch  sons 
(said  he) ;  and  he  had  labored  at  the  forge,  in  some 
lowland  Scotch  village,  and  had  scrimped  his  life, 
it  was  plain,  and  had  spoiled  his  future,  too,  to  im- 
prove the  fortunes  of  his  brother,  who  must  be  sent 
to  the  university.     The  brother  was  become  a  dis- 

171 


;v 


if 


-I 


ill 


,.:  ( 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

tinguishcd  divine.  A  grand  theologian,  man — a 
minister  of  power  and  grace!  We  had  heard  of  him 
— doubtless?  No?  Ah,  well,  then  we  were  not 
well  acquaint' with  Edinboro!  That  was  true:  and 
the  truth  of  it — conveyed  in  haste  and  with  solicit- 
ous emphasis — would  have  restored  the  good  smithy's 
pride  in  his  brother's  fame  (which  needed  no  restora- 
tion) had  it  wavered.  And,  well,  now,  the  younger 
son  having  taken  a  degree,  and  having  been  called, 
in  season,  and  having  been  firmly  inducted,  the 
smithy  had  come  to  the  colonies,  twenty  years  ago, 
to  build  himself  a  larger  future  than  he  faced;  and 
here  was  he  to  this  day,  poor  chap! — a  crossroads 
smithy,  outstripped  and  discouraged  in  a  land  of 
opportunity. 

"Too  old,"  says  he,  "when  I  landed." 

It  was  not  that,  I  thought:  it  was  more  that  he 
had  habituated  himself  to  the  unprofitable  virtue  of 
self-sacrifice. 

"Ay,"  he  insisted,  "I  was  too  old." 

Our  smithy  began,  by  and  by,  to  discnurse — 
shrewdly,  perhaps — of  the  philosophy  of  Thomas 
Carlyle:  it  being  too  pitilessly  charged  with  ill 
temixT  and  scorn  and  brutal  severity  (said  he)  to 
improve  the  happiness  of  many;  and  after  that  he 
described  the  oratory  of  Gladstone  and  John  Bright, 
and  other  great  parliamentarians,  and  some  great 
preachers  of  their  generation,  his  eyes  glowing  the 
while,  and  his  lips  fairly  smacking  his  delight — and 
recited  for  our  pleasure  some  phrases  of  the  elo- 
quence of  those  years :  yet  he  would  barter  all  these 
stimulating  recollections  (said  he)  to  have  heard 
Abraham  Lincoln  utter  even  the  first  sentence  of 
the  Gettysburg  Address.    Were  we  by  any  chance 

172 


It,t 


J 


)1 


THE    SENTIMENTAL   SMITHY 

readers— he    went    on— of    the    novels    of    Charles 
Dickens?    And  he  laughed:   so  that  all  at  once  we 
discovered  the  solace  of  his  leisure— but  were  not 
astonished,  at  all:  for  in  other  comers  of  the  world, 
where  men  are  lost  from  each  other,  vc  had  fallen 
upon  the  same  good  disclosure,   time  and  again. 
Here  the  smithy  spoke  of  Mr.  Turveydrop,  and  Mrs 
Gamp  and  poor  Steerforth,  and  Dick  Swiveller,  and 
Mr.  Veneering,  and  little  David  Copperfield,  as  of 
familiar  friends— old  intimates  of  his  own.    Why, 
man,  it  seemed,  to  hear  him  talk  of  ihem  all,  that 
they  were  still  living  their  lives— or  that,  being  dead, 
they  were  still  mourned:    Little   Nell,   and   Paul 
Dombey,  and  Dora!    And  it  was  good  to  hear  him: 
it  was  good  to  learn  once  more  that  this  great  legacy 
of  laughter  and  friendship  was  not  yet  expended- 
that  it  still  returned  its  splendid  profit  to  the  com- 
mon folk  of  the  world.     It  seemed,  for  a  flash,  m- 
deed,  being  newly  out  fx^.      Home,  that  we  must 
have  news  of  that  cherishec  jircle  for  the  smithy.  ^^ 
"And  what,  now,  is  to  be  the  forthcoming  work," 
he  might  have  inquired,  "of  the  celebrated  Mr.  Cop- 
perfield?" 

Our  sentimental  smithy  did  nothing  of  the  sort, 
of  course;  but  had  he  done  so— had  he  so  much  as 
ventured  to  approach  an  inquiry  of  that  description 
— our  imagination,  too,  would  have  taken  its  high 
and  joyous  flight.  We  should  have  demanded  to 
be  informed,  and  that  instantly,  you  may  be  sure,  of 
the  whereabouts  of  Mr.  Micawber.  Mr.  Micawber 
was  somewhere  in  the  colonies:  we  knew  that— we 
had  read  the  newspaper  account,  indeed,  of  a  certain 
convivial  occasion,  designed  to  recognize  and  distm- 
guish  Mr.  Micawber's  activities   in  a  sphere  com- 

173 


'I 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

pletely  suited  to  those  eminent  talents  which  had  hith- 
erto been  obscured  in  dismal  and  utterly  incompre- 
hensible misfortune.    And  we  wanted  to  know  where 
Mr.  Micawber  lived.     We  wanted  Mr.  Micawber  to 
brew  us  a  delectable  brew,  and,  having  submitted 
to  the  exhilaration  of  his  performance,  we  wanted 
to  shake  hands  with  Mr.  Micawber,  a  good  many 
more  times  than  once,  being  sure  that  sentiments  of 
admiration  might  be  expressed  to  Mr.  Micawber,  in 
these  days  of  Mr.  Micawber's  prosperity,  without 
the  least  pecuniary  danger  whatsoever.    And  we 
wanted  to  hear  the  dulcet  young  Wilkcns  lift  up  his 
voice,  and  we  wanted  to  be  amazed  by  the  growth 
and  extraordinary  loveliness  of  the  twins,  and  we 
wanted  to  felicitate  the  faithful  and  perspicacious 
Mrs.  Micawber,  in  the  most  carefully  chosen  forms 
of  fashion  and  refinement.     And  we  wanted  more: 
wanted— if  such  a  thing  could  be  without  dealing 
pj^jn—to  tell  our  admiration  and  affection  to  those 
homely    unfortunates    who    had    sailed    with    Mr. 
Micawber  to  refashion  their  lives  of  the  poor  frag- 
ments of  hope   that  a  great  catastrophe  had  left 
them  to  build  with. 

Hut  the  sentimental  smithy  did  not  lead  us  so 
far  away  from  the  realities. 

"Ye'll  hear  me  at  the  forge."  said  he,  ri.-lng  at 
l.mt,  to  leave  us,  "when  ye're  olT  in  the  niornin'." 

We  promised  to  listen  for  the  tinkle  and  clang  of 

till-  forge. 

"I'm  nothin'  but  a  failure,"  said  he. 

Ah.  well! 

"Ye'll  hear  me  singin'  at  the  forge,  just  the  same." 
said  he.  He  jjaused.  And  added:  "JJest  of  all  I 
love  the  plaintive  songs." 


1    » 


XXXI 


THE    MUSICAL   STOCKMAN 


\l 


4 


AT  that  very  moment  there  was  an  astonishing 
k.  quantity  of  music  in  the  air.     It  began  in  roar; 
and  it  continued  at  the  pitch  of  a  roar— scorning 
dimimiauio  and  crescendo,  or  carelessly  incapable  of 
cither,  I  am  not  sure  which.     At  any  rate,  the  neigh- 
borhood vibrated  with  melody.     It  originated  in  the 
bar.     And  at  a  word  from  the  young  jackaroo,  it 
emerged  from  the  bar,  and  stumbled  into  the  railed 
inclosurc,  and  sat  down  beside  us.  continuing  for- 
tissimo:  the  instrument  of  its  production  being,  as 
you  may  know,  one  of  the  three  drunken  stockmen. 
Having  run  his  ballad  to  the  end,   the  stockman 
yielded  to  the  quiet  of  the  night  and  far-away  place 
and  turned  out.  at  once,  to  be  most  amiably  inclined 
in  the  matter  of  communicating  his  song.     Not  only 
did  he  communicate  it,  in  a  speaking  voice,  to  be 
written  down,  but  repeated  the  lines,  in  the  interest 
of  precision,  and  even  assisted  with  the  spelling,  all 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  at  last  found  his  call- 
ing and  was  perfectly  aware  of  the  gravity  of  its 
responsibilities.     And  then  (said  he)  we  must  master 
the  tune:    this  being  particularly  inii)ortant   to  a 
perfect   exposition   of   the  whole   com])osition.     He 
sang  again,  thercfure,  ociasionally  interrupting  hini- 

»7S 


''1 


Ht 


if- 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

self  to  inquire  whether  or  not  we  had  "caught"  the 
melody,  and  beseeching  us  to  join  with  him— voafer- 
ating  with  such  fervor,  his  eyes  blazing,  his  face 
working,  and  his  forefinger  beating  the  time,  and 
leaning  so  close,  and  radiant  of  such  gleeful  absorb- 
tion  with  his  occupation,  that  we  could  not  follow 
the  melody  at  all.  but  must  give  a  fascinated  atten- 
tion to  the  bristling  visage  and  enrapt  manner  of 
the  good  fellow. 

Here,  then,  I  transcribe  the  song  of  the  drunken 
stockman,  called  "Flash  Jack  from  Gundagai": 

I've  shore  at  nurraboKic,  an'  I've  shore  at  Toganmain, 
I've  shore  at  Hi},'  WiUandra,  an'  upon  the  Coleraine, 
n.it  l)ofon-  Ih"  shearin'  was  over.  I've  wished  mesclf  back  aRain, 
Shearin'  t.-r  ol'  Tom  Patterson  on  '  .ne  Tree  Plain. 

All  amonR  th'  wool,  hoys! 

Keep  yer  wide  blades  full,  boys!  ^ 

I  kin  do  a  respeilablc  tally  meself  w'enever  I  likes  t    try, 
But  they  know  mc  'round  th'  back-bloeks  as  Flash  Jack  from 
Gundajjai. 

I've  shore  at  ISi},'  WiUandra,  an'  I've  shore  at  TiUoeroo 

An'  once  I  <lrew  mc  blades,  me  boys,  upon  th'  famed  Barcoo, 

At  Cow.an   Downs  an'  Trida,  as  far  as  Moulamcin; 

Hut  I  always  was  t;lad  t'  get  back  again  f  One  Tree  Plam. 

I've  pinked  'em  with  the  Wolscleys,  an"  I've  ntshed  with  B-lx)ws, 

An'  shaved  'em  in  th'  grease,  mc  toys,  with  th    grass-see<l 

showin'  through; 
But  I  never  Klummc<l  mo  pen,  mc  boys,  whatc'r  it  might  contam, 
While  shearin'  for  ol'  Tom  Patterson  on  One  Tree  Plain. 

I've  been  whalin'  up  the  Lachlan,  an'  I've  dossed  on  Cooper's 

Creek. 
An'  once  I  rung  Cudjingie  shed,  an'  blued  it  in  a  week; 

1 70 


THE    MUSICAL    STOCKMAN 

But  when  Gabriel  blows  his  trump,  me  boys,  I'll  catch  the 

mornin'  train, 
An'  push  for  ol'  Tom  Patterson's  on  One  Tree  Plam. 

All  among  th'  wool,  boys! 
Keep  ycr  wide  blades  full,  boys! 

I  kin  do  a  respectable  tally  nier,clf  wVnever  I  likes  t'  try; 
But  they  know  me  'round  th'  back-blocks  as  Flash  Jack  from 
Gundagai. 

Flash  Jack  from  Gundagai  was  a  shearer  of  cele- 
brated skill,  if  this  boastful  recital  had  the  right  of 
it— and  the  devil  of  a  fellow,  as  well,  and  a  bit  on 
the  other  side  of  the  law.     When  he  pitikcd  'cm  with 
the  WolscfcYs  he  had  employed  a  mechanical  shearing- 
device  so  effectually  that  his  sheep  were  clipped  to 
the  skin-    and  when  he  rushed  with  B-hCifs,  too,  he 
had   mauo   amazing   haste   with   the   hand  -  shears. 
When  he  rjf»/,'  Cudjingic  shed  he  had  proved  himself 
the  fastest  shearer  employed  on  that  great  station; 
and  when  he  blued  it  in  a  week  he  had  squandered 
the  earnings  of  this  glorious  achievement,  at  some 
I)ot-house  like  Forty  Mile  Inn,  in   the   tumultuous 
period  of  seven  days.     All  this,  being  not  yet  too 
far  gone  in  his  potations,  the  stockman  elucidated, 
with   the   profoundest   determination    to   be   exact, 
warning  us,  the  while,  that  a  deal  of  pernicious  mis- 
information was  let   loose   upon  every  new  chum 
(tenderfoot)  that  came  to  the  bush. 


II 


II 


■ii 


XXXII 


THE   MELANCHOLY   LANDLADY 


O  Y  this  time  the  shower  was  ove.  There^  -- 
B  no  patter  of  ram-no  1-^^  dnp  -  ]^^^^X^_^ 
It  was  deep-dark  bclm^-.  /f^  "^^^^  ,^  roister- 
as  though  f^r'fi^^crs^^Thnrncd  low  and 
crs  and  night-bound  ^^^J  •^^^^^^i^^^.  ^^^  there  were 
Rone  out.    The  mn-yard  ^^ as  Wack    a  ^^^^_ 

lo  lighted  windows  ^--^^f.^^^.l^'^Tihe  highroad 
low  the  blaek  spaces  of  the  "^^^^^  ^"^^  ^^  ^„a  very 
was  blaek.  and  the  bush  beyond  -^^^^^^^'^  .„^  „,,, 

■till    as  well,  after  the  ram.  no  oreaui 
^tlU.  as  well,  stirrmg  of  hie  tncre 

blowmg  past,     \\hat  nmsc  -^  busmcss. 

was  in  the  world  was  m  ^^"^'^^l^,       ^^.e  South- 

cm  Cross  ^^'a\^.P?^"f'^^7^^^  Lerx'  eherished  new 
beyond  in  the  ^>f-^-tLfJe^rnultitude  twin- 
ncquamtanee  of  I^c   mnutne  ^^^^  ^^^^^^^^^^^, 

kled  down  "P"^P"''y  ;;thc  old  friends  of  the  other 
heartening  good  humor  of  the^^dr^  ^^^ 

'^^'"^^^r%nS  tl  etidc°:U  of  it.  and  rcmem- 
these  stars,  and  sec  the  ^^lu  ^,    ^^^,        ^ra- 

berthebeginnmg.andhavc  ^at  lua  ^^^^ 

tions  aspire  and  ^-^g^n^ze  and    he    a  ^^^^^ 

n^oaning  of  our  poor  ^ 'J^'^^'  ;'^;^  J^^  ,rire.  even  to 
very  wise,  in  every  ^vay.^>ovi  ma> 


M 


H'! 


\l 


.1  '' 


THE    MELANCHOLY    LANDLADY 


a  master>'  of  the  ultimate  philosophy,  which  must 
apprehend,  of  course,  the  measure  of  the  infinitely 
large,  and  the  measure  of  the  infinitely  little,  too, 
in  time  and  timelcssness,  death,  life,  grief,  ecstasy; 
and  you  may  easily  fancy,  if  you  have  a  turn  for 
pretty  imaginings,  that  the  mysteries  which  terribly 
concern  us  for  a  little  while  are  all  known  to  the  stars 
and  of  small  consequence  in  their  sight — that  the 
serenity  of  their  regard  of  the  world  conveys  the 
assurance  of  some  amusing  surprise  awaiting  revela- 
tion to  us  every  one. 

It  was  time,  now,  to  turn  in.     The  amiable  coach- 
man of  the  "Billy  Bullet" — whose  glad  passengers 
we  were  —  came  from  the  kitchen  to  warn  us  off 
to  bed.     Forty  miles  of  the  road  to-morrow  (said 
he) ;   and  it  would  be  a  fair  day  for  travel,  but  slow- 
wheels,  with  no  wind  to  dry  that  wet  going.     In  the 
musty  ])arlor  of  the  inn,  where  we  had  supped,  the 
melancholy  landlady  was  waiting  to  light  candles 
for  us.     She  did  not  speak  to  us.     She  got  up  from 
her  chair  by  the  black  window,  in  listless  patience, 
neither   wakeful   nor   worn,  her  uncomely  counte- 
nance as  blank  as  before,  and  touched  a  flame  to  the 
wick  of  one  candle,  but  left  the  other  cold.     The 
match  flamed  high — was  V)lown  out.     I  fancied  she 
had  forgotten  us  in  a  sudden  abstraction  of  thought. 
She  made  no  move  to  light  the  second  candle.     It 
was  a  task  not  yet  completed:   we  must  wait  upon 
her  mood — wait  there,   wondering,   with  astonish- 
ment, why  she  had  let  the  flame  of  her  match  go  out, 
why  she  paused  now,  staring  at  the  black  wick,  in 
a  frowning  dream,  as  though  pondering  some  dark 
matter,  of  which  she  would  six;ak,   in  a  moment, 
when  she  had  arranged  her  mind  and  gathered  spirit 

179 


Id 


M 


II 


i 


t  T 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

to  utter  it.  What,  indeed,  was  in  her  mind — what 
drear  confidence  she  might  have  been  encouraged  to 
give  us — I  do  not  know.  She  did  not  tell  us  what 
was  in  her  mind.  Her  fro\\'n  broke,  then,  but  not 
yet  in  a  smile,  and  she  touched  another  flame  to  the 
second  candle,  now  with  a  flash  of  interest;  and  she 
took  up  the  candlestick,  with  a  show  of  determined 
purpose,  and  went  to  the  wall,  and  there  dusted  the 
frame  and  glass  of  a  picture — which  needed  no  dust- 
ing, I  am  sure — with  the  hem  of  her  apron,  and  held 
the  candle  high  for  us  to  see. 

"Cunnin",  aren't  'e?"  she  whispered,  smiling  at  last. 

It  was  the  photograph  of  a  baby  lying  in  its 
coffin — a  faded  photograph. 


\i 


When  the  candles  were  blown  out,  the  little  drover 
was  sound  asleep,  stowed  away  for  the  night,  as 
deep  and  cozy  in  sleep,  indeed,  as  he  could  very 
well  be  in  his  own  bed  in  the  home  to  which  he  was 
returning;  but  the  young  jackaroo  was  wak^^ful, 
and  the  long,  scowling  man  was  growling  under  his 
breath  Light  came  in  from  the  bar — streams  and 
beams  of  lamplight,  boldly  entering  by  way  of  every 
crack,  and  by  way  of  every  knot-hole,  in  that  flimsy 
partition  which  was  designed  to  separate  our  repose 
from  the  conviviality  beyond.  And  noise  came  in — 
a  melody,  in  stentorian  proportions,  expressing 
sentiments,  uncommon  to  hear  with  that  loud  free- 
dom, which  were  bound  to  anger  ears  composed  for 
sleep.  The  scowling  man  got  up,  and  put  his  lips 
to  a  knot-hole  (I  surmise);  and  he  cxjjloded  his 
beloved  little  part  of  speech  into  the  bar,  like  a 
shower  of  bombs,  with  such  rapidity,  and  with  de- 
tonations so  startling,  though  he  managed  somehow 

1 80 


,    I 


i'l 


*!     I 


a 


THE    MELANCHOLY    LANDLADY 

to  muffle  them  from  us,  that  the  drunken  stockman's 
song  fell  away,  and  honest  silence  came,  following  a 
terrified  confabulation  in  whispers.     And  then,  all 
at  once— it  seemed  no  time  at  all— the  cockatoos 
were  calling  us  up  and  scolding  us  for  lazy  fellows, 
the  laziest  lie-abeds  that  ever  traveled  that  high- 
road, the  laziest,  at  any  rate,  within  the  memory 
of  the  very  oldest  cockatoo  of  the  scandalized  flock. 
I  fancy  that  a  laughing-jackass  had  a  part  in  the 
tree-top  conversation.    I  am  not  sure,  of  course;  but 
if  a  laughing-jackass  did  not  chance  to  be  at  that  mo- 
ment casting  bursts  of  scornful  laughter  into  the  midst 
of  the  naughty  confusion  I  am  very  much  mistaken. 
A  cockatoo  can  scold;  but  a  cockatoo  cannot  express 
its  contempt  in  disgusting  peals  of  laughter. 

Long  before  this  the  scowling  man  had  taken  the 
road.     And  now  the  little  drover  was  up,  and  out 
in  the  sunshine,  too,  and  the  jackaroo  was  splash- 
ing and  blowing  in  the  basin,  and  breakfast  was 
waiting  (if  a  man  could  believe  his  own  nose).     And 
presently— being  breakfasted,  now,  and  wailing,  m 
the  blue,  fresh  morning,  for  the  amial)le  coachman 
to  put  the  horses  in  the  "Billy  Bullet,"  with  the  help 
of  the  bleared  little  stable-boy— awaiting  in  the  sun- 
shine, we  heard  the  tinkle  and  c:lang  and  clink  of  the 
gray  blacksmith's  forge.    And  he  was  singing,  too, 
as  blithely  as  he  had  said  he  would  sing -a  sure, 
hearty  voice,  ringing  above  the  tinkle  and  clink  and 
clang,    .s  clean  as  that  good  morning— a  failure  m 
life,  here  at  his  famiUar  labor,  and  joyous— 

Her  brrw  was  like  the  snow-drift, 

Her  neck  was  like  the  swan. 
And  her  face  it  was  the  fairest 

That  e'er  the  sun— 
i8i 


•M 


II, 


\H 


i) 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

— clear  through  to  the  end  of  the  tender  ballad. 
And  "The  Land  o'  the  Leal,"  then— and  presently 
"Auld  Robin  Gray."  The  plaintive  songs  for  him! 
Yet  I  would  not  shame  the  good  gray  smithy  by 
hinting  that  the  plaintive  cx)lor  of  his  music  ex- 
pressed regret— that  he  wished  he  had  withheld 
some  part  of  what  his  youth  had  dutifully  given. 
He  was  singing  still— and  the  forge  was  clinking  and 
clanging  to  the  blows  of  his  lusty  labor— when  the 
"Billy  Bullet"  took  the  road  and  went  galloping  past. 
We  heard  him  singing  until  the  swift  hoof-beats  of 
the  four  vanquished  his  melodious  voice  and  left 
us  to  listen  to  the  patter  and  rattle  cf  the  road;  and 
you  will  know  all  about  it,  if  you  sing  with  him, 
while  his  voice  follows — and  if  you  vision  for  your- 
self the  sunshine  and  breeze  and  blue  sky  of  the 
world  through  which  we  sped  along — 

Her  brow  was  like  the  snow-drift, 

Her  neck  wns  like  the  swan. 
And  her  face  it  was  the  fairest 

That  e'er  the  sun — 


'     » 


XXXIII 


A   QUEENSLAND    SHOWER 


WE  abandoned  the  coach  at  the  railroad  and 
there  took  train  for  Rockhampton.  Late  one 
night  we  boarded  a  comfortable  coastal  boat  for 
Cairns  of  North  Queensland — there  to  wait  for  the 
New  Guinea  packet.  At  this  time  of  the  year  the 
Queensland  tropical  coast  was  flourishing  under  the 
last  of  the  rains.  Here  far  in  the  north  it  is  shel- 
tered well  from  the  worst  gales  of  the  South  Pacific 
and  the  Coral  Sea  by  the  Great  Barrier  Reef.  It  is 
a  rich  and  lovely  coast,  indeed.  There  arc  many 
islands,  all  of  tender  color,  green  and  yellow  and 
gray,  in  the  vagrant,  showery  rains  and  cloudy  sun- 
sets; and  there  are  a  thousand  placid  azure  channels, 
sunlit  and  warm  and  languid,  and  good  harbors,  as 
well,  and  brown,  deep  perpetual  rivers.  And  there  are 
pastured  hills,  and  abundant  fruit  and  sugar  lands, 
with  towns  of  promise,  shaded  with  palm  and  banyan 
and  pepper-tree;  and  beyond,  over  the  ranges,  lie 
wide  grassy  highlands,  the  unsettled  bush  awaiting 
its  inevitable  occupation  still  more  remote  in  the 
west.  These  were  autumn  showers:  March  show- 
ers— clearing  showers.  Some  fine  day,  and  that 
soon,  too,  a  lively  brco  would  sweep  the  sky  clean 
of  its  last  cloud,  its  last  shred  of  mist,  and  the  dry, 


13 


183 


boy! 
Ten 


Rain  in  Queensland!     Rain  in 
inches   at    my   station    already! 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

blue  weather  of  winter  would  set  in.  mellow  and 
dependable.  Dry  weather  impended— a  stretch  of 
sparkling  winter  months:  what  rains  would  fall  were 
near  all  down,  determining  the  season. 

Out  of  Colombo,  where,  late  in  the  spring  before 
this,  on  the  voyage  to  Sydney,  the  Australian  mails 
were  put  aboard,   the  returning  Queenslander  had 
come  uproariously  into  the  smoking-room,  waving 
the  latest   Melbourne  newspaper,   his  amiable  big 
face  alive  and  alight  and  warmly  flushed  with  relief. 
"I've  got  mine!"  he  shouted. 
What  was  this? 
"Rain!" 
Rain? 
"Rain,  m' 
Queensland ! 
My  word!" 

As  a  matter  of  course,  fall  now  approaching,  the 
Queensland  coast,  to  which  we  had  come  these  many 
miles  from  Colombo,  was  by  this  time  drenched. 
But  the  back-blocks?  What  about  the  Queens 
land  back-blocks?— Cunnamulla  and  Muttaburra 
and  Camoowcal  and  Bungcworgoai.  Well,  there 
would  be  no  drought  in  the  back-blocks.  The  thi'ng 
was  determined.  It  was  all  over  with:  the  raius 
were  down  in  the  back-blocks.  Copious  rains,  too— 
thirty  inches,  sixty  inches,  eighty  inches!  All  the 
Queensland  streams  were  in  flood,  the  water-holes 
overflowed,  the  downs  were  springing,  the  farthest 
bush  was  in  good  green  health.  Grass  was  assured 
in  Queensland— grass  in  abundance  for  the  twenty 
millions  of  Queensland  sheep,  knee-high  grass  for  the 
five  million^  head  of  Queensland  cattle,  fattening 
wayside  grass  for  the  long,  slow  droving  over  the 

184 


I 


¥i 


1.1^ 


',  i't 


A   IRIDAV-NK.HT   CONCEKT   ON   THE    BEACH 


I 
I'il 


I  /i 


A   QUEENSLAND   SHOWER 

stock-routes  to  the  markets  at  tidewater.  There 
was  no  shadow  of  disaster.  Station-owners,  planters, 
selectors:  they  would  flourish — ever>'  one.  It  was 
to  be  a  season  of  plenty,  coast  and  bush  and  grass- 
lands: maize  and  tobacco  and  sugar-cane,  bananas 
and  matchless  pineapples.  •""'  every  luscious  tropic- 
al fruit — fat  beef,  tor  •.md  t-.uttcr  and  toothsome 
mutton  and  much  goc  .1  wc^ol. 


A  moment  before,  here  cl  ^r-iinis,  the  stars  had 
been  out— the  Southern  Cross  winking  its  brilliant 
eyes— in  a  friendly  regard  of  that  merrymaking  lit- 
tle Queensland  town.  The  showt-r  had  crept  over- 
head in  the  dark.  With  the  first  heavy  drops,  spat- 
tering hot  and  smartly  in  the  circle  of  torchlight,  the 
brass  band,  i)laying  a  Friday-night  concert  on  the 
grassy  beginnings  of  the  beach,  midway  of  the  street 
in  front  of  the  hotel,  made  ready  for  flight  by  hastily 
executing  some  perfunctory  chords  of  "God  Save 
the  King,"  once  more  to  declare  an  ample  and  un- 
faltering patriotism.  It  seemed  to  be  an  obligation 
of  heroic  im[)ortance.  But  leaving  blown  these  fer- 
vid blasts  and  wheezes,  in  defiance  of  the  deluge,  and 
having  broken  down  in  a  confusion  of  piccolo  toots 
and  bass-hom  snorts,  the  bandsmen  doused  their 
torches  and  took  to  their  heels.  There  was  a  pelting 
shower  to  urge  them— a  first  volley  of  great  tepid 
drops.  And  it  was  a  rout.  OR'  they  tumbled  to 
shelter,  in  shameless  disorder,  after  a  scurrying  au- 
dience of  tanned  Australians,  white-clad  and  su- 
perior, and  of  ragged  blackfellows,  of  mincing, 
squealing  Chinamen  and  of  jolly  Japanese. 

"Fifteen  feet  of  rain  a  year,"  the  Inspector  of 
Mounted  Police  repeated.     "Think  of  it!" 

i8s 


fi! 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

We  reflected  and  were  astonished. 

"Sometimes  twenty,"  says  he. 

It  was  amazing. 

"Why,"  he  went  on,  dehghtcd  to  complete  our 
surprise,  "I've  known  it  to  rain  an  inch  an  hour— 
and  keep  on  raining  all  day,  too.  In  New  South 
Wales  I've  known  it  to  rain  sciicn  inches  in  two 
hours.  Flood?  Quite  so!  At  Mooloolah,  here  in 
Oueensland,  they  once  had  a  fall  of  thirty  inches  at 
a  pour.  And  back  on  the  Blackall  Range,  on  the 
second  of  February,  eighteen  hundred  and  ninety- 
three,"  he  concluded,  delivering  the  circumstantial 
thrust  with  a  triumphant  smile,  "it  rained  no  less 
than  thirty-si.x  inches." 

He  paused. 

"Do  you  take  it?"  he  incjuircd,  anxiously. 

Well,  indeed,  we  were  none  too  sure  that  we  had 
taken  it. 

"Three  feet  of  water?" 

"One  yard." 

It  was  hard  to  adjust  this  prodigious  spectacle 

for  comparison. 

"Quite  so,"  says  he.  "What's  the  rainfall  in 
New  York?" 

This  was  altogether  beyond  us. 

"Quite  so,"  he  agreed,  briskly.  "I'll  find  out." 
He  dodged  into  his  own  quarters— all  the  sleeping- 
rooms  of  that  airy  tropical  hotel  opened  on  the  up- 
per veranda— and  presently  returned,  thumbing  a 
great  book  in  which  the  useful  knowledge  was  con- 
tained. "Here  we  have  it.  New  York:  forty-two 
inches- the  average.  That  is  to  say,  to  wit:  that 
in  the  little  place  I'm  telling  you  about,  here  in 
Oueensland,  almost  as  much  rain  fell  in  a  day  and 

lit) 


<   I 


A   QUEENSLAND   SHOWER 

a  night,  let  us  say,  as  falls  in  New  York  in  the  course 
of  a  whole  year."  He  looked  over  his  spectacles  to 
catch  our  sui  )rise.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  sur- 
prise on  the  wing.  He  was  gratified.  "Do  you 
know  Singapore?"  he  inquired.  We  knew  something 
of  Singapore — its  dismal  reputation  in  this  respect. 
In  Singapore  it  showers  every  day — or  twice  as  much 
the  next  day.  "Quite  so,"  said  he.  "Then  let 
me  tell  you  this:  it  rains  three  times  as  much  in 
Singapore  as  it  does  in  New  York,  and  four  times 
as  much  as  it  rains  in  London ;  and  here  on  the  north- 
cast  coast  of  Queensland" — he  slapped  the  book 
shut  for  emphasis — "it  rains  twice  as  much  as  it 
does  in  Singapore." 

"Some  rain,"  I  remarked. 

"Some?"  he  protested,  not  used  to  the  American 
twist.     "Not  too  little!" 

"Not  too  Httle?" 

"I  mean  a  jolly  good  lot." 

"And  L" 

It  was  an  understanding. 


( 


XXXIV 


TROOPERS  OF  THE  OUTLANDS 


DOWN  came  the  rain,  then — a  mighty  dousing 
of  the  town!  It  cleared  the  walks,  obscured 
the  shop  windows,  extinguished  the  green  and  red 
of  the  harbor  lights,  drenched  the  banyans,  flooded 
the  streets,  and  pervaded  ever>'  shelter  with  warm 
moisture;  and  it  beat  a  furious  tiproar  on  the  iron 
roof  of  the  upper  veranda  of  the  hotel,  threatening 
to  demolish  it  flat  forthwith,  and  continued  the  tu- 
mult, without  lessening  the  pitch  for  an  instant,  as 
I  mischievously  determined,  this  season,  at  last,  to 
complete  its  perennial  endeavor  to  dissolve  the  trim 
town  cluster  and  wash  it  into  the  harbor  by  way  of 
its  own  gutters.  And  the  patter  and  gurgle  and 
splash  of  it — and  the  thick  night  and  the  sudden 
torrent  in  the  street — gave  point  to  the  Inspector's 
happy  contention  that  service  with  the  Queensland 
Mounted  Police  was,  in  the  rainy  season,  a  devilish 
rigorous  employment.  We  were  to  understand  that 
the  service  demanded  men — men  with  a  smart 
liking  for  adventure,  and  with  body  and  heart 
enough,  too,  to  further  the  inclination  on  its  way  to 
the  last  frontiers  of  romance.  We  were  to  under- 
stand, in  short,  that  it  demanded  blooded  men — 
thoroughbreds. 

i88 


', 


TROOPERS  OF  THE  OUTLANDS 

'Reckless  as  a  bushranger,"  the  Inspector  de- 
clared, "and  as  cunning  as  a  bubonic  rat." 

The  Inspector  had  himself  come  through  the 
rough  and  tumble  of  the  service,  years  of  remote 
j)atrol  and  the  bloody  business  of  pursuit,  with  cattle- 
thieves,  outlaws,  and  red-handed  savages  to  fetch  in 
from  the  bush,  dead  or  alive — the  long  riding,  in 
flood  and  blistering  drought,  and  the  tracking,  the 
chase,  the  shooting,  the  capture;  and  he  was  now 
at  last  become  an  officer  of  conspicuous  rank  in  a 
distinguished,  wide-riding  organization  of  a  military 
sort,  as  delicately  jealous  of  its  efficiency  and  honor 
as  any  British  regiment  of  the  regular  line.  He  was 
no  mere  superior  of  city  bobbies,  snaring  timid 
small  game  in  the  streets,  with  a  tap  on  the  shoulder 
for  sufficient  weapon  and  authority :  he  was  a  veteran 
of  the  big  man-hunt — a  sentimentalist  under  the 
skin,  withal,  and  seasoned  with  Irish  tenderness.  Wc 
gathered  presently  that  for  many  years  he  had  lived 
in  close  and  affectionate  comjjanionship  with  an 
ideal  of  daily  behavior  which  he  called  My  Duty. 
It  was  a  complete  expression.  And  plainly  it  had 
been  philosophy  enough.  A  simple  performance, 
truly:  yet  it  had  fashioned  a  man  who  was  still 
unable  to  contemplate  fear  and  shame  and  all  man- 
ner of  dishonor  in  men  with  anything  short  of 
amazement. 

"I  say,"  said  he,  his  voice  lowered,  his  attitude 
inviting  confidence,  as  though  the  thing  should  be 
spoken  of  under  cover,  "what  about  that  New  York 
murder?" 

"Wliich  New  York  murder?" 

"The  one  they  have  on  their  hands." 

"Which  one?" 

1S9 


<i 


i 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

Somewhat  in  the  manner  of  a  stage  villain  the 
Inspector  peered  around  to  make  sure  of  privacy. 

"The  gambler,  you  know,"  said  he,  cautiously. 
"Shot  down  in  front  of  a  New  York  pub,  wasn't  he? 
Right?" 

That  was  ghastly  fact. 

"And  they  have  an  inspector  of  police  in  custody? 
Charged  with  complicity,  isn't  he?  What's  the 
truth  of  it?     The  despatches  say — " 

At  that  moment  a  trim  trooper  in  a  dripping  cloak 
and  khaki  came  clicking  down  the  veranda  with  a 
teiegram.  He  saluted,  presented  the  message,  sa- 
luted again,  stepped  l)ack  his  paces,  according  to 
the  regulations,  doubtless,  and  saluted  for  the  third 
l^mc,  standing';  then  at  attention,  until,  having  been 
dismissed,  he  took  instant  advantage  of  a  last  op- 
l^irtunity  to  salute  and  clicked  away.  Whatever 
the  contents  of  the  message,  they  preoccupied  the 
Inspector  past  continuing  his  pursuit  of  deix^ndable 
information  relating  to  the  incredible  conduct  of 
the  police  of  New  York. 

A  Quc^ensland  trooper,  having  measured  up  to  the 
physical  standard  of  a  man,  not  less  than  a  wiry 
fivc-foot-oight  of  length  and  a  muscular  bulk  of 
eleven  stone,  with  a  good  eye  to  back  that  minimum, 
and  having  been  heartily  accredited  as  to  character, 
and  having  shown  an  aptitude  for  the  service,  and 
having  exposed  his  quality  in  general,  in  the  course  of 
a  cunning  interview  with  the  Commissioner,  who 
has  a  sharp  eye  for  defects  and  a  touchy  regard  for 
the  honor  of  the  cori)s,  goes  then  into  barracks  for 
a  twelvemonth's  rigorous  military  training,  whence 
he  emerges,  at  last,  a  soldierly  fellow — as  trim  and 

190 


-r. 


% 


TROOPERS  OF  THE  OUTLANDS 

disciplined  and  impersonally  swift  in  the  perform- 
ance of  duty  as  any  old  Tommy  of  the  British  line. 
It  is  a  far  patrol,  at  first— some  last  region  of  the 
back-blocks,  where  rogues  and  blackfellows  are  to 
be  kept  in  hand  and  a  widely  scattered  and  forlorn 
community  is  to  be  served  with  paternal  solicitude 
by  the  only  representative  of  the  state  within  the 
hope  of  reach.  There  are  almost  seven  hundred 
thousand  square  miles  to  police,  from  Thursday 
Island  to  the  long  New  South  Wales  border:  which 
implies  lonely  billets,  vast  districts,  and  long  riding 
in  haste. 

"I  rode,  once,  after  a  cattle-duffer."  said  the 
Inspector,  "two  hundred  and  twenty-five  miles  in 
thirty-six  hours." 

He  was  a  big  man. 

"Seventeen  stone  and  eight  at  the  time,"  said  he. 

From  the  beginning  of  his  service  the  earth  of 
his  neighborhood  shakes  when  the  trooper  goes 
abroad — strutting  the  street  of  his  small  township, 
]Mpe-clayed  and  polished,  with  the  broad  brim  of  his 
felt  hat  fiirtod  up  at  the  side,  in  the  Australian 
way,  or  galloping  the  dusty  roads,  on  active  service, 
clanking  authority  with  every  hoof-beat,  or  perched 
behind  the  hump  of  his  camel,  lumbering  through  the 
deserts.  It  is  a  heartening  spectacle,  indeed,  wher- 
ever encountered  in  the  bushlands  of  the  Common- 
wealth—New South  Wales,  Victoria,  South  Aus- 
tralia, Tasmania,  Western  Australia,  t^^  Northern 
Territory  or  Queensland.  A  soldierly  ngure,  spick 
and  span,  as  opportunity  runs:  khaki-clad  in  the 
heat,  with  serge  and  leather  trappings  for  winter 
weather,  and  white  cord  breeches,  a  white  helmet 
and  sword  for  parade.     He  has  a  wide  latitude  of 

191 


I 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

discretion.  It  is  assumed  at  headquarters,  it  seems, 
that  in  any  event  ne  will  be  on  the  right  side  of  jus- 
tice and  propriety.  And  he  is  the  law  of  the  fron- 
tiers; where  he  rides  there  is  order;  and  where  his 
hand  falls  in  the  king's  name  there  is  one  less  rascal 
at  large  or  a  trooper  shamed  out  of  the  service. 


In  the  days  when  the  Inspector  was  a  trooper 
(said  he)  he  took  a  savage  blackfellow — meaning  by 
this  a  blackfellow  of  some  uncivilized  bush — for  the 
murder  of  a  white  squatter.  The  slaughter  of  one 
blackfellow  by  another  is  relatively  a  thing  of  small 
conseqitcnre :  the  aborigine  who  achieves  this  sav- 
age eclat  is  chastened  by  an  easy  detention  of  a 
year  or  two  and  liberated  to  his  tribe.  But  to  spear 
a  white  man  is  a  crime  most  heinous  and  intolerable. 
It  is  visited  with  a  pursuit  which  never  stops  short 
of  capture  or  a  death  at  bay  in  the  open — a  chase  of 
a  thousand  miles,  it  may  be,  and  quick  grim  action 
at  the  end  of  it,  arrest  or  the  alternative.  Having 
now  with  vast  satisfaction  taken  his  savage,  the 
Inspector  made  haste  back  with  him  toward  his 
station  to  dodge  the  impending  rains.  But  the 
rains  caught  him.  A  river,  dry  in  the  outward 
track,  was  widely  in  flood;  and  on  the  bank  of  it — ■ 
the  rain  threatening  a  long  increase — the  Inspector 
stopped,  chagrined.  It  was  wild  countrj';  and  the 
trooper  was  alone  with  his  captive,  who  desired 
nothing  more,  as  the  trooper  very  well  knew,  than 
a  cunning  opportunity  to  do  his  captor  to  death. 

A  crossing  must  be  made. 

"Well,  now,  Ji(ni\"  the  Inspector  inquired  of  us, 
in  twinkling  expectation  of  our  bewildcnnent,  "did 
I  manage  it?" 

IQ2 


TROOPERS  OF  THE  OUTLANDS 


"You  swam." 

He  laughed. 

"First  of  all,"  I  continued,  to  make  the  action 
pleasantly  melodramatic,  "you  strapped  your  re- 
volver on  your  head;  and  having  done  this,  as  any 
good  bushman  could,  you  took  your  knife  between 
your  teeth,  drove  the  blackfellow  in  advance,  and 
so  came  safely  to  the  other  side." 

The  invention  was  woefully  short  of  the  reality. 

"'Tis  plain,"  said  the  Inspector,  "that  you've 
never  seen  a  blackfellow  in  the  water.  Man  alive, 
they  swim  like  sharks — like  turtle  and  dugong!  A 
white  man  would  have  as  much  chance  with  a  croco- 
dile. And  there's  another  thing:  I  can't  swim  a 
stroke." 

"Then  you  didn't  get  across?" 

"Ah,  but  I  did!"  he  cried,  delighted.  "I  made  my 
prisoner  take  me.  And  the  big  divil  had  a  clever 
dodge,  too.  I  give  him  credit  for  cunning — I  do 
that.  He  was  to  loop  a  strap  over  his  forehead, 
you  see,  and  let  me  flop  along  at  the  other  end.  It 
was  the  surest  way,  says  he — the  usual  way.  And 
that  was  quite  true.  But  it  didn't  suit  my  book. 
Ah,  they're  sly,  treacherous  brutes!  Trust  myself 
with  that  nigger  free  in  the  water?  Not  I!  I  love 
my  Ufe.  He  would  have  turned  on  me  midway. 
He  would  have  had  me  drowned  in  a  jiffy.  'Ah,  no,* 
says  I;  'it  may  bo  that  I'm  to  drown,  but  if  /  drown, 
you'll  drown,  ana  that's  the  way  we'll  have  it, 
b'gorn,'!'  So  I  strapped  his  wrist  to  mine — with  a 
foot  of  leather  for  leeway.  There  was  no  getting 
loose,  neither  for  him  nor  for  me.  'Twould  take 
the  slash  of  a  knife  to  do  it.  I  saw  to  the  lashing 
myself.     Do  you  take  my  plan?    If  one  of  us  went, 

193 


a 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWA\S 

both  would  go.  I  had  him  fast.  He  couldn't  get 
away.  He  might  drown  mc,  quite  so;  but  I  would 
have  my  hands  on  his  throat  before  he  got  very 
far  with  the  business,  and  he  would  pay  with  his 
life." 

"And  then?" 

"I  kicked  him  into  the  water.  He  took  me 
across." 

It  was  a  prodigious  adventure. 

"I  wonder  why  it  is,"  the  Inspector  mused,  "that 
you  can't  keep  a  young  dog  of  a  trooper  from  doing 
foolhardy  things  like  that?" 

"A  young  dog?" 

"That's  it!"  he  agreed.     "Sheer  youth!" 


XXXV 


LICENSE   TO   KILL 


IN  the  early  Queensland  days — when  the  Black 
Police,    a  "constabulary   of   half -tamed   savages, 
officered  by  white  men,  rode  the  country,  the  ruth- 
less arm  of  the  law  on  the  wild  frontier— sentiment 
was  for  a  time  not  seriously  opposed  to  the  exter- 
mination of  the  blackfellows.     In  the  eyes  of  the 
settlers  they  were  like  wild  beasts— their  appearance, 
custom.s,  and  behavior.     It  was  the  custom  to  shoot 
the  culprits  at  sight,  their  tribesmen  and  dingoes; 
and  there  were  men  who  kept  tally  of  their  achieve- 
ments in  the  field—' ' Thirty-seven  to  date !' '     Black- 
fellows  were  intolerably  pestiferous:    they  speared 
the  cattle,  hamstrung  the  horses,  thieved  what  they 
could  lay  hands  on,  and  were  sometimes  bold  and 
cunning  enough  to  murder  the  settlers,  having  first 
tortured  them  with  deviHsh  invention;   and  for  all 
this  wanton  work  they  were  in  reprisal  massacred 
in  defenseless  droves — driven  to  comer,  in  lagoons 
and  hollows,  like  rabbits  and  wallaby,  and  shot  or 
cut  down  without  any  let  up  until  the  last  shivering 
wretch  had  fallen.     It  was  a  black  business  alto- 
gether:   there  are  gruesome  tales  abroad  of  these 
days — of  natives  hunted  for  sport  or  picked  off  for 
target  practice,  and  of  the  employment  of  great  fires 

195 


•I 


'l.. 


niJ.rRALIAN    BYWAYS 

to  dispose  of  the  game  when  bagged  in  awkward 
numbers. 

"Poisoned  'em,  too,"  said  an  acquaintance  of  the 
road  we  traveled  at  that  time. 

It  was  a  tale  so  grotesquely  improbable  that  we 
laughed  in  scorn  of  it. 

"No,  no!"  protested  our  gentleman.  "I  mean 
it." 

"How  then  was  the  thing  managed?" 

"Easily  enough.  Poisoned  'em  like  rats.  Gave 
'em  barrels  of  poisoned  flour." 

Traveling   the    roads   of   the   Queensland   back- 
blocks  we  encountered  a  blackfellow  shuffling  through 
the  dust   from   his   reservation   to   town.  °He  was 
an  old  man,  an  old,  old  man,  in  reservation   rags, 
whose  countenance  excited  a  convulsion  of  disgust,' 
so  very  bestial  was  it,  and  whose  proximity,  in  a  gen- 
eral way,  was  altogether  shocking  to  the  composure. 
He  had  no  savage  pride,  like  a  N  ,rth  American  In- 
dian,  to  win  the  smallest  measure  of  any  man's 
respect ;   nor  had  he  any  jollity,  like  a  negro,  to  gain 
an  indulgent  regard,  but  had  only  a  slouch  and  a 
mumble   and   a   half-witted    titter.     Somewhat    he 
resembled  a  negro— the  color  and  thick  Hps  and  flat 
nose  of  him;  but  he  had  no  clear,  mild  eye,  nor  was 
he  in  any  way  upstanding  and  frank— flaring  red 
and  treacherously  shifty  little  eyes,  indeed,  set  far 
back,  and  a  slinking  way,  like  a  mongrel  dog  brought 
to  heel ;  and  a  gap  in  his  shirt  disclosed  that  he  was  as 
hair>'  as  an  ape.     Indeed,  he  was  so  debased  in  fea- 
ture and  demeanor  that  it  stirred  the  wrath  to  find 
him  fashioned  indubitably  in  the  likeness  of  a  man. 
Beholding  him,  I  was  almost  enabled  to  credit  the 

196 


'!     • 


LICENSE   TO    KILL 

preposterous  tale  that  it  was  at  one  time  thought 
to  be  no  grave  breach  of  Christian  moraUtj  .o  feed 
the  aborigines  to  the  dogs. 

Near  by  this  town,  long  ago,  this  man's  tribe  had 
murdered  a  family  of  settlers  in  the  night,  save  one 
lad,  who  escaiied  death  by  opportunely  tumbling 
to  the  floor  between  the  bed  and  the  wall,  himself 
wounded,  unconscious  and  loft  for  dead.     What  the 
provocation   was   nobody   knows.      It    is    probable 
that   there   was  no   specific   provocation.     It   had 
doubtless  been  a  wanton  thing— a  childish  mischief- 
undertaken  upon  savage  impulse  and  accomplished 
for  nothing  more  than  the  momentary  pleasure  of 
dealing  death  to  some  living  creature.     This  was 
the  inspiration  of  many  similar  deeds — neither  ven- 
geance  nor   spoil,   but    the   swift,    bestial,    wanton 
blood-lust,  indulged,  celebrated,  laughed  over,  and 
for  the  time  forgotten;   and  therein  lies  a  sufliicient 
explanation  of  the  terrible  character  of  the  retalia- 
tion.    Whatever  the  case,  the  boy,  having  thus  nar- 
rowly survived,  made  his  way  to  Brisbane,   where 
he  related  his  story  to  the  authorities,  and  to  such 
good  purpose,  as  it  turned  out,  that  he  was  given 
a  rifle  and  free  leave  to  return  to  his  district  and 
shoot  as  many  blackfellows  as  he  could   manage, 
being  heartily  assured  that  the  law  would  not  molest 
him. 

"You  see,"  said  our  fellow-traveler,  "he  was 
regularly  licensed." 

"By  the  Department  of  Game  and  Fisheries?" 
I  scoffed. 

"Ah,  come  now!"  he  replied.  "I  am  not  jokinp. 
I  do  not  mean  to  say,"  he  went  on,  "that  the 
authorities  gave  this  boy  an  engrossed  license,  suit- 

197 


'I 


1'  i 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

able  for  framing,  but  I  do  assert  that  they  com- 
raissioned   him  to  kill  blackfellows,   and  that  his 
commission  was  not  altogether  singular,  but  one  of 
a  good  many.    And  hv  did  kill  blackfellows— hun- 
dreds of  them,  possibly.     lie  killed  them  where  he 
could  find  them,  running  the  bush  or  employed  on 
the  stations,  not  even  hesitating  in  the  presence  of 
their  white  masters.     And  by  and  by  the  thing  be- 
came a  nuisance.     It  was  awkward  for  the  station- 
owners  to  have  their  blackboys  disposed  of  in  this 
way.     There  were   complaints.     I   recall   that  one 
station-owner  had  his  best  black  servant  shot  from 
the  saddle  on  the  road.     He  was  very  angry;    but 
the  boy  flourished  his  commission,  and  the  station- 
owner  could  do  nothing  about  it.     The  end  of  it 
was  that  the  boy  was  summoned  to  Brisbane  and 
bought  off.     The  old  blackfellow  whom  we  passed 
a  few  moments  ago  boasts  that  he  was  on-     pursued 
by  this  industrious  youngster.     And  he  had  a  nar- 
row escape.     He  says  that  he  took  to  the  river,  and 
that  he  submerged   himself,   breathing  meanwhile 
through  a  reed,  until  the  hunt  was  given  up." 


XXXVI 

IN   THE   king's   name 

IN  these  secure  and  enlightened  days  the  Queens- 
land blacks  are  cherished  by  the  state  with  anx- 
ious solicitude — encouraged  with  rations,  blankets, 
school-teachers,  and  religious  instruction.  A  Chief 
Protector  of  Aborigines,  his  deputies  and  the  police 
arc  charged  with  the  business.  "All  wc  can  do," 
said  a  Queenslander  of  con-secjucnce,  with  rhetorical 
pathos,  "is  ease  the  last  moments  of  this  dying 
race."  But  there  arc  the  outlands.  Australia  is 
most  populous  on  the  coast.  There  is  a  rapid  de- 
crease a-;  the  country'  approaches  the  wild  interior. 
Railroads  stoj)  far  short  of  it.  Civilization  thins 
out.  The  towns  diminish  and  scatter  and  the  stock- 
stations  grow  to  vast  and  vaguely  bounded  estates. 
In  the  remotest  back-blocks  the  stations  merge  with 
the  wild  lands;  and  lx>yond— towanl  the  center  of 
the  continent — lie  the  deserts  and  unmai)ped  bush- 
lands  and  the  lusty  savage  life  of  them.  In  the 
Never-Nevcr  (as  the  outermost  places  are  called) 
the  trooper's  duty  concerns  itself  largely  with  the 
capture  of  offending  blacks  who  escape  to  the  dry- 
lands and  barren  ranges.  Still  on  the  frontier  the 
blacks  sjx^ar  cattle  and  occasionally  munkr  settlers 
and  unwary   travelers;    and    they   must   surely   be 

1 4  !<)') 


*< 


I 


U^  t 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

taken  and  punished  if  security  is  to  be  established 
in  the  rich  lands  of  the  Never-Never. 

It  is  a  service  which  sometimes  demands  the  exer- 
cise of  an  amazing  ingenuity  and  daring. 

"All  the  cunning,"  the  Inspector  declared  again, 
"of  a  bubonic  rat!" 

Once  the  Inspector — the  Inspector  with  whom  wc 
sat  on  the  broad  upper  veranda  of  the  hotel — was 
caught  on  the  wrong  side  of  a  river  of  the  outlands 
with  a  problematical  black  tracker  and  two  vicious 
and  mighty  prisoners.  It  was  far  "out  back" — 
the  empty  wilderness.  And  it  was  the  beginning  of 
the  rainy  season.  A  drenching  rain  was  falling  when 
they  came  to  the  bank.  It  went  whipping  past  with 
half  a  gale  of  wind.  The  river,  in  flood,  was  a  wide, 
brown,  swirling  torrent,  carrying  a  swift  and  threat- 
ening freight  of  trees  and  dead  underbrush.  It  was 
not  a  heartening  prospect,  rufned  by  the  wind,  con- 
tcmjilated  through  a  mist  of  driving  rain:  there  were 
currents,  shallows,  whirlpools— a  deep  rush  of  water. 
The  Insix?ctor's  prisoners  were  not  repentant  cul- 
prits. They  were  naked,  savage,  terrified  by  cap- 
ture and  restraint;  and  their  irons  had  fretted  them 
near  to  madness.  In  short  (.said  he)  ihey  were  like 
wild  beasts,  lately  taken  in  a  jungle,  being  conveyed 
to  captivity.  And  the  black  tracker,  tcK),  was  a 
source  of  grave  per])le.\ity.  He  was  not  to  be 
trusted:  he  was  himself  fresh  from  the  bush,  half 
tamed,  not  proven;  and  it  was  the  i)art  of  caution 
to  assume  that  he  had  rather  join  forces  with  the 
InsiKvtor's  prisoners  than  ser\'e  the  Insix.>ctor. 

It  will  be  recalled  that  the  Insjxictor  could  not 
!;wim. 

"Not  a  stroke,  mind  you!"  said  he. 

300 


IN   THE    KING'S   NAME 


It  was  a  predicament,  indeed.  With  what  shrewd 
resource  the  Inspector  solved  the  many  and  perilous 
difficulties  of  the  situation  could  not  be  fathomed 
by  the  most  cunning  bushman — nor  invented  by  the 
most  reckless  teller  of  tales.  There  was  the  river: 
it  was  hardly  passable  at  best,  and  here  in  the  wil- 
derness there  was  no  craft  for  crossing  it.  To  attempt 
to  swim  the  horses  through  a  flood  so  wide  and  vio- 
lent would  be  to  invite  the  treachery  of  the  black 
tracker  and  the  escape  of  the  prisoners.  There  would 
be  confusion;  and  the  issue  of  that  confusion  would 
be  the  Inspector's  death  or  dishonor.  It  was  not 
to  be  chanced.  The  ])risoners  must  be  kept  close; 
they  must  be  unsliackled,  at  last,  antl  driven  into 
the  water,  but  tliey  must  surely  be  kept  within 
range  and  reasonably  i)laci(l  aim.  They  could  not 
be  shepherded  to  the  other  side  from  the  back  of  a 
frenzied  horse.  The  black  tracker,  too,  always  a 
menace  in  a  predicament,  must  be  restrained,  if  by 
nothing  more  ;;a1utary  than  a  cold  glance,  occasional- 
ly east  in  his  direction,  carrying  the  threat  of  (juiek 
death. 

"You  mustn't  let  your  tracker  get  behind  your 
back,"  the  Insjjeetor  paused  to  explain.  "No,  no! 
My  word,  no!" 

Invariably  not? 

"A  raw  one,  especially,"  he  replied,  "if  you're  in 
trouble.     They're  treacherous  bnites." 

First  of  all  the  Inspector  lashed  two  V-shaiK>d 
pack-.saddles  end  to  end.  And  licre,  then,  was  the 
framework  of  a  sm.all  craft.  He  turned  them  u])- 
side  down.  It  was  a  good  beginning.  Of  the  oil- 
cloth cover  of  his  swag  (blankets)  he  fashiniu'd  .m 
outer  skin.     This  he  tucked  in  and  kept  (irmly  in 

201 


I 


I   ' 


';  I,! 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 


J  i 


place  by  means  of  some  sapling  branches.  The 
craft  was  finished.  He  launched  it.  It  floated — ■ 
floated  dr>';  and  so  low  was  its  center  of  gravity 
when  he  sat  in  it  (like  a  man  in  a  bath-tub)  that  it 
seemed  to  be  amply  seaworthy,  notwithstanding  the 
turbulence  of  the  current  it  must  weather.  How, 
then,  to  propel  it  across?  Well,  the  In.sj:)ector's  in- 
genuity did  not  fail  him.  His  inspiration  had  in- 
cluded the  means.  I  hiving  disarmed  his  black 
tracker  and  despatched  him  in  advance  with  the 
horses,  the  intrepid  In.spector,  stark  naked  and 
rueful,  hanic.s.sed  his  two  ])risoners  to  the  bow  of  his 
craft  and  set  out  on  his  voyage,  his  heart  in  his 
mouth  with  fear  of  drowning,  his  stout  jK-rson  rigidiy 
upright  and  stationary,  his  revolver  covering  the 
astonished  creatures  whom  in  this  remarkable  way 
he  comix'lled  to  swim  with  him  in  safety  to  the  other 
side,  where,  devoutly  thankful,  he  resumed  his 
journey. 

"It  is  quite  the  most  cxtraordinar>'  exploit  of  the 
sort,"  I  protested,  "that  ever  I  heard  of!" 

"Quite  so,"  said  he,  mildly. 

After  all,  the  blackfellows  of  the  outlands  are  no 
warriors.  They  are  given  to  bloody  mischief — to 
fooli.sh,  wanton  murder,  accomplished  from  ambush 
or  in  the  dark.  In  packs  they  are  truly  to  be  feared 
by  a  helplessly  inferior  force.  But  they  do  not 
make  war.  As  comjjared  with  the  North  American 
Indian  of  pioneering  days,  for  example,  they  are 
no  worse  than  exasjK'rating.  Speaking  in  the  loose 
fashion  of  the  layman,  they  are  of  a  low  order:  they 
have  no  useful  domestic  animals,  they  do  not  prac- 
tise agriculture  even  of  a  most  primitive  descrip- 
tion, the}'  have  no  fixed  habitations,  but  only  the 

203 


•i   ♦ 


IN   THE    KING'S    NAME 

mia-mia,  a  temporary  canopy  or  wind-break,  of  brush. 
Thus  from  season  to  season  they  subsist  and  wander 
like  the  beasts  of  the  field.  And  they  are  not  in  a 
largely  more  intelligent  way  capable  of  concerted 
action.  They  have  no  hereditary  chiefs— no  chiefs, 
properly  speaking,  at  all,  except  old  men  of  more 
or  less  influence.  Consequently  an  attack  by  any 
tribe  in  full  force  and  under  powerful  leadership  is 
not  to  be  expected;  and  an  alliance,  tribe  with  trilx', 
for  sustained  and  directed  war,  could  never  occur. 
Wary  travelers  are  safe  enough  in  their  progress 
through  the  land,  and  the  outermost  settlers  of  the 
Never-Ncvcr,  so  long  as  they  do  not  neglect  the 
accepted,  simple  precautions,  are  reasonably  secure. 

Australia  is  rid  of  the  bushrangers  who  long  ago 
ct!'  brated  the  roads  of  the  colony  with  their  pic- 
turcscjuc  villainies.  It  is  a  curious  circumstance  that 
the  last  band  of  consequence  to  be  dispersed  by  the 
police  followed  their  adventures  incased  in  visored 
helmets  and  a  sort  of  medieval  armor.  Bushranging 
vanished  with  the  gold  fever  of  Victoria  and  New 
South  Wales.  In  the  Kalgoorlie  days  there  was  no 
highwayman  of  conspicuous  achievement.  Nor  was 
there  lawlessness  of  a  capital  degree:  the  small  of- 
fenders—thieves and  claim-jumpers— were  merely 
dntmmcd  out  of  camj)  and  forbidden  the  fields. 
But  there  are  half-caste  and  white  rogues  to  be  dealt 
with  by  the  constabulary  in  the  bacK  '  'ocks.  In 
some  small  town  of  the  Oueensland  bu.  a  we  en- 
countered the  annou'.icement  that  His  Excellency  the 
Oovemor  had  been  ;)U\'isi'd  to  direct  the  offer  of 
£500  in  reward  for  the  capture  of  a  yotmg  horse- 
breaker  whose  mother  w;is  a  half-caste  Chinese  and 

203 


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f  I 


>        ' 


f  ; 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

whose  father  was  a  Kanaka.  It  was  an  enterprising 
crime :  between  Turkey  Station  and  Bustard  Head, 
the  refugee  had  shot  dowTi  the  swain  of  a  young 
woman  of  whom  he  was  himself  enamoured,  and  had 
thereupon  carried  her  off  with  him  on  the  oack  of 
his  horse,  leaving  no  trace. 

Shearers  and  drovers  are  a  wild  company  to  keep 
in  hand  when  the  checks  are  distributed  and  the 
liquor  begins  to  flow  in  the  back-block  public-houses. 
"Ah,  yes,  but  they  don't  draw  knives,"  said  the 
Inspector,  "and  they  don't  shoot  from  their  coat 
pockets." 

In  short,  their  customs  were  British. 
"They  settle  their  differences  with   their  fists, 
the  Inspector  declared,  warmly,  "like  men!" 

Once  the  Inspector  cut  out  his  quarry  from  a 
"mob"  of  rogues  in  a  shanty-saloon  of  the  Queens- 
land frontier.  It  was  a  remote  and  dangerous  way- 
side inn— a  rendezvous,  after  a  sort,  of  cattlc-dufTers 
(thieves)  and  outlaws,  and  suspects  of  every  Aus- 
tralian description.  To  enter  single-handed  and  de- 
mand a  man  in  the  king's  name  was  a  feat  of  cold 
temerity;  but  the  Inspector  accomplished  it  with- 
out agitation— a  casual  arrest,  as  it  were,  an  affair 
of  no  general  consequence — and  rode  away  with  his 
captive.  It  was  a  hanging  charge.  The  prisoner 
had  nothing  more  to  lose.  He  would  kill  the  In- 
spector if  he  could.  And  the  Inspector  had  no  il- 
lusions. But  the  two  rode  amiably  together  until 
the  day's  riding  was  done.  They  made  camp  in  the 
bush.  The  billy  was  boiled.  There  was  a  com- 
panionable smoke,  more  amiable  and  diverting  con- 
versation. It  turned  out  that  the  prisoner  was  a 
clever,    agreeable    fellow.     The    Inspector    rather 

304 


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if  I 


IN   THE    KING'S   NAME 


fancied  him.  But  at  last,  night  having  fallen,  and 
the  talk  languishing  with  the  fire  in  the  bowls  of 
the  pipes,  and  a  journey  of  many  days  lying  ahead, 
and  the  Inspector  being  desperately  skv-py,  it  was 
time  to  turn  in.  How  about  a  guard?  The  In- 
spector did  not  by  any  means  propose  to  lose  a 
night's  sleep. 

It  was  a  simple  arrangement,  after  all:  the  In- 
spector handcuffed  his  prisoner  to  his  own  wrist, 
threw  his  revolver  out  of  reach,  and  lay  down  to 
sleep. 

"Why  dispose  of  the  weapon?"  I  inquired. 

"I  had  no  wish  to  kill  my  prisoner." 

"Very  true;  but  your  prisoner — " 

"A  tussel?  Ah,  well,  I  looked  him  over,  and  I 
thought  I  was  as  good  a  man  as  he  was." 

"But  he  might—" 

"Pish!"  the  Inspector  scoffed.  "I  wouldn't  give 
him  the  satisfaction  of  thinking  I  was  afraid  of  him." 


Well,  now,  it  was  still  raining.  A  wet  night, 
truly — a  drenching,  splashing,  gurgling  night.  Rain 
drummed  on  the  roof  and  overflowed  the  eaves. 
The  air  was  thick  with  a  tepid  moisture.  It  was 
dark  in  the  flooded  streets.  The  town  had  gone  to 
bed.  Another  dripping  trooper  came  clicking  down 
the  broad  veranda  and  interrupted  the  Inspector 
with  a  punctilious  salute  and  a  telegram;  and  having 
bcc  dismissed,  like  the  first,  and  having  executed 
the  maximum  number  of  salutes  allowed  by  the 
regulations,  he  clicked  off  to  the  rainy  night,  leaving 
the  Inspector  in  the  mind  to  pursue  his  quest  of 
reliable  information  relating  to  the  alleged  incredible 
conduct  of  the  police  o{  New  York.    This  he  did 

20S 


n  ij 


•  t 


!'■ 


J         • 


r    . 


I  I  Ij, 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

with  the  most  poHte  consideration.  Our  pride  was 
not  to  be  damaged  in  the  least.  The  Inspector  (said 
he)  was  asking  for  information;  he  intended  no 
reflection  upon  the  quality  of  our  constabulary — 
no  indelicate  insinuation  whatsoever.  We  were  to 
understand  that.  And,  moreover,  he  was  not  dis- 
posed to  discuss  an  affair  so  questionable  in  the  open. 
As  it  chanced,  our  situation  was  secluded.  Except 
for  ourselves  the  broad  veranda  was  deserted.  Yet 
the  Inspector  sat  up  in  his  steamer-chair  and  peered 
cunningly  around  to  make  sure  that  our  privacy 
was  not  a  thing  of  appearance  only. 

"I  say,"  he  whispered,  leaning  confidentially 
near,  "what  about  that  New  York  Inspector  of 
Police?" 

"He  is  in  custody." 

"In  custody!  Think  of  it!  Well,  now,  I  say, 
between  ourselves,  you  know— you  won't  take  this 
amiss,  I'm  sure  — the  despatches  seem  to  hint  at 
what  they  call  'an  alliance  between  the  police  and 
crime.'  Really,  now,  what  do  they  mean  by  such 
extraordinary  talk  as  that?" 

"That  there  is  an  'alliance.'" 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  it  is  openly  charged?" 

"O  Lord,  yes!" 

"i.iy  word!"  the  Inspector  gasped. 

Really,  he  was  greatly  shocked. 


I"   >. 


XXXVII 


I 


A   NIGGER   IN   A   HURRICANE 

NEW  GUINEA  bound,  we  had  come  north  to 
Caims  from  Sydney,  by  way  of  the  Queensland 
coach-roads  and  ship  from  Rockhampton,  design- 
ing at  Caims  to  take  the  New  Guinea  packet  for 
Port  Moresby.  A  long  by-path  of  travel,  however, 
touching  the  North  Queensland  ports  and  New 
Guinea,  leads  from  Sydney  to  Singapore.  In  the 
mellow  charm  of  sailing  new  seas,  and  in  the  lively 
little  surjorises,  too,  it  is  the  more  remunerative  half 
of  the  wide  x\ustralian  detour  from  Colombo.  Aus- 
tralian travelers,  not  gravely  concerned  with  time, 
wisely  followed  it  from  Sydney  into  the  world  again. 
There  are  many  days  ashore,  in  alien,  savage  little 
ports,  never  heard  of  before— all  amazingly  far  away 
from  the  completest  and  most  talkative  learning  in 
elementary  geography;  and  there  is  much  slow 
landing  and  shipping  of  spicy  cargo— lying  in  the 
offing,  now,  on  a  flat,  green  sea,  a  breeze  blowing 
past  with  the  tropical  odors  of  shore,  and  lighters 
clustered  about  the  sun-soaked,  drowsy  shij),  swarm- 
ing with  noisy  native  labor,  naked  and  grinning  and 
altogether  outlandish.  It  is  like  a  voyage  accom- 
plished at  leisure,  with  many  jjorts  of  call,  truly  out 
of  the  way  and  engaging—  a  month  or  more,  splash- 

207 


'f  \: 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

inj;  softly  north  to  the  tropics,  and  rolling  west  a 
bit  below  the  Line,  with  a  singular  mixture  of  ship- 
mates to  be  intimate  with;    and  all  the  while  it  is 
a  warm,  sleepy,  breezy  passage,  sparkling  with  the 
spray  of  the  blue  trade-winds,  and  brilliant  with 
sunlit,    incredible   color,   at   sea   and   ashore.     The 
craft  that  ply  that  way  are  well-found,  comfortable, 
jovial;  they  dawdle  up  the  Australian  east  coast— a 
course  in  the  shelter  of  the  Great  Barrier  Reef— and 
from    the    northernmost    Queensland    ports    splash 
blithely  across  the  Coral  wSca  to  the  cannibal  land  of 
New  Guinea,   whence  they  return   through  Torres 
Strait,  with  gingerly  caution,  to  Thursday  Island, 
steaming,  then,  by  way  of  Port  Darwin,  of  the  un- 
settled Northern  Territory,  to  the  wild  islands  of 
the  Arafura   and   Banda   Seas,   and   to   Surabaya, 
Samarang    and    Batavia,    colorful    cities    of   Java. 
Singapore  lies  beyond,  across  an  oily,  misty  stretch 
of  dead,  gray  water  (at  the  time  of  our  passage); 
and  at  Singapore  all  the  main-traveled  roads  of  the 
sea,  going  cast  and  west,  come  together  in  the  heat 
and  tepid  rain,  and  any  one  may  be  taken. 

While  we  waited  at  Cairns  for  the  New  Guinea 
packet  to  be  under  way  across  the  Coral  vSea  we  got 
ear  of  a  Cape  York  aborigine  who  had  some  years 
before  astounded  the  Australian  world  by  saving  his 
life  from  the  sea  in  the  midst  of  a  great  hurricane. 
The  wind  had  fallen  down  so  swiftly— and  with  such 
furious  white  violence  (said  they)- that  of  the  five 
hundred  luggers  of  the  pearling  fleet  which  it  cast 
away  some  were  blown  to  the  bottom  within  a  few 
fathoms  of  shore  with  the  loss  of  all  hands.  It  was 
a  rare  tale:    we  doubted  it— in  the  manner  of  all 

208 


NATIVK    HOATi   (lATHER    AHOIT,    KAt.l.R    To    IIAKTKR 


) 

■A 

» 

'i 

1 

i'  V 


A    NIGGER    IN    A    HURRICANE 

travelers  of  cnck-snrc  caution   in   a  new  country'. 
So  greatly  was  our  interest  enlisted,  however,  that 
we  put  off  in  a  sloop  to  clap  eyes  on  the  hero  of  the 
incredible  adventure,  and  to  have  his  own  recit- ' 
And  having  sailed  some  fifteen  miles  to  the  fi 
coral   islands  of   the   Great   Barrier   Reef  in   brisk 
weather — the  warm,  misty  rain,  great  clouds,  gusty 
wind,  steaming  sunshine,  of  the  changing  season — 
we  dropped  anchor  in  the  bcr>i  lee  of  a  low  little 
island,    brilliantly    green,    with    a    blinding    white 
beach.     It  was  a  fruitful,  drowsy  island,  the  trade- 
wind  fanning  it,  now,  of  its  heat.     Here  lived  the 
aborigine,  a  fisher  of  schnapper    and    baramundi, 
with  his  wife  and  swarming  family,  his  thatched 
habitation  secluded  in  a  shady  thicket  of  palm  and 
jungle-growth;    and  here  was  he,  this  day,  a  stal- 
wart, hairy  fellow,  disporting  hitnself ,  with  his  glisten- 
ing chocolate  children,  and  his  wife,  too,  in  the  warm 
green  water,  his  humor  not  for  fishing,   the  wind 
blowing  too  smartly  for  his  boat  to  be  lazily  abroad. 
In  the  season  of  the  Great  Hurricane  this  aborigine 
was  shipped  aboard  a  lugger  of  eighteen  tons  to  fish 
the  Great  Barrier  Reef  off  the  Cape  York  coast  for 
shell  and  beche-de-mer.     When  the  big  wind  came 
down  (said  he)  it  lifted  the  little  lugger  clean  out 
of  the  water — like  a  leaf  in  a  gale  (said  he) — and 
flung  her  back,  capsized  and  cast  away.     And  so 
swift  was  this,  and  wanton,  and  complete,  and  care- 
less, and  easy,  that  the  aborigine  was  greatly  aston- 
ished:   for  he  had  not  thought  that  any  wind  could 
accomplish  it.     It  was  then  near  six  o'clock  of  a 
Saturday  evening.     And  all  at  once  it  was  dark. 
The  wreck  of  the  lugger  vanished  in  the  surprising 
night  and  a  smother  of  broken  water.     What  a  tur- 

209 


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AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 


I  i 


I 


r 


moil  there  was — how  the  wind  tore  ofT  the  crests 
of  the  magical  waves  and  drenched  the  air  with  a 
stifling  mist  of  spray — and  what  a  confusion  of  noise 
and  movement,  and  how  black,  and  how  white,  the 
rush  of  the  night — the  aborigine  could  not  with  any 
art  relate:  but  said,  with  his  eyes  popped  out,  in 
recollection  of  the  magical  performance  of  that 
jinkie-jinkie  gale,  "My  word,  one  big-fellow  sea!" 
He  was  tossed  and  driven  like  a  chip  of  driftwood, 
all  that  night  (said  he):  his  head  was  up,  his  heels 
were  up,  he  was  rolled  over  and  over,  he  was  beaten 
deep  under  water,  the  breath  was  blown  back  in  his 
mouth;  and  he  fancied,  sometimes,  that  the  wind 
picked  him  up  with  its  hands  (said  he)  and  cast 
him  through  the  air,  from  crest  to  crest,  dear  of  the 
sea — which  was  doubtless  tnie:  for  the  wind  was 
magicall}'  strong,  and  in  magical  wrath,  and  magical- 
ly as  sticky  as  gum. 

In  the  momin;4  the  aborigine  fell  in  with  his 
hibra  (wife);  and  the  lubra  stood  by  to  help  him, 
being  a  stronger  swimmer  than  he,  and  a  more 
cunning  diver  after  shell  and  b{^ehe-de-mer,  and 
more  daring  and  elusive  in  sharl:  water:  so  that 
her  value  was  knf)wn  to  all  the  masters  of  luggers 
out  of  Thursday  Island,  and  known  quite  as  well, 
you  may  Iw  sure,  to  the  al)origine.  By  and  by — 
dawn  long  ago  come,  and  no<in  near,  and  the  wind 
abating— these  two  could  glimpse  the  land  from 
the  crests  of  the  wives.  It  was  far  away— a  low, 
blue  line.  Vet  now,  having  found  th(>msclves,  they 
set  out  heartily,  in  about  their  fourteenth  hour  in 
the  water,  to  win  the  shore.  In  the  aftemrx)n  the 
aborigine  In'gan  to  fail.  The  thing  was  tcx)  miuh 
fur  him.     He  lost  heart  (said  he):  he  was  worn  out, 

2IO 


A   NIGGER    IN    A    HURRICANE 

and  needed  fotjd— sleepy,  too.  with  weakness.  His 
anxious  little  lubra  must  rest  hitn,  now  and  again- 
support  him  while  he  lay  still,  and  onec,  indeed,  while 
he  nodded  off  to  sleep,  and  in  this  way  refreshed  his 
strength  and  spirit.  And  so  they  swam  together, 
and  paused  to  rest,  and  swam  on— the  woman  having 
no  rest  at  all,  Init  lending  strength  to  the  'nan,  at 
shortening  iieriods,  all  the  while.  In  the  end  they 
erawled  u])  the  beaeh  and  fell  down  and  slejjt  for 
a  long  time.  It  was  then  eight  o'clock  of  a  Sunday 
night:  they  had  been  in  hurricane  water  a  matter  of 
twenty-six  hours;  and  the  man  would  surely  have 
gone  down  had  it  not  been  for  the  faithful  little 
lubra.  And  they  did  not  wake  up  (said  the  abo- 
rigine) until  dawn  of  Monday. 

All  this  while  the  woman  had  carried  the  baby. 
It  was  dead,  of  course— must  have  died  soon  in  the 
smother. 

"Wouldn't  drop  it,"  said  the  shipper  of  our  sUxip. 

We  watched  .  aborigine  and  his  lubra  leave  the 
warm,  green  water. 

"That  Httle  woman?"  ..id  I. 

"Oh,  my  word,  not  at  all!"  the  skipiwr  exclaimed. 
"The  woman  went  crazy  when  she  woke  up  in  the 
mf»ming  and  found  her  baby  dead.  And  the  black- 
fellow  deserted  her.     This  one's  a  new  one!" 


XXXVIII 

ACROSS   THE    CORAL   SEA 

YX/E  went  out  from  Cairns,  Papua  bound,  across 
V  V    tlic  Coral  Sea,  in  the  starlit  dark  of  (wo o'clock 
in  the  morning;  and  so  laden  was  our  little  packet, 
by  this  time,  with  ear^'o  in  the  hold  and  ponies  in 
the  stables  belwcendecks,  and   a   vast   overllow  of 
logs,   stowed  forward,   that   the  i)limsol   mark  was 
deep  underwater.     In  gray  weather  we  htei)i)ed  with 
care  through  the  Grafton  Passage  of  the  Great  Car- 
rier Reef  -ugly  patches  of  brown  water,  reaches  of 
I>erilous  green,  wide  spaces  of  free  blue;    and  when 
the  gray  was  blown  out  of  the  sky,  and  the  sun  was 
hot  upon  our  decks,  the  coral  was  all  behind,  for  the 
time,  and  the  sea  flowing  deep  and  blue,     'i'his  was 
the  season  of  the  favorable  trades:    the  witid  blew 
fresh,  but  neither  fa<shened  greatly  nor  fell  away, 
nor  would  abate  or  rise,  we  thought;   and  the  while 
horses  were   running  to  the  steady  urging  of  the 
wind— an  exhilarating  pace:   white  manes  flying,  a 
swish  of  speed  sounding,  and   a  diamond-dust  of 
spray  in  the  blue  air.     We  ran  through  a  cross-sea. 
(luartering   somewhat— with   a   little   spkishing   lift 
and  a  long  roll;  a  rr»eking.  and  a  whisper  of  brc-akin;; 
water,  and  a  serene  color  of  sky  and  sea,  and  a 
warmth  of  sunlight,  ami  a  jovial"  play  of  wind,  aii 

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I     I 


ACROSS   THE   CORAL    SEA 


in  a  happy  concert,  and  quite  easily  able  to  soothe 
any  mood  to  contentment,  and  to  i)ut  the  most 
clamorous  anxiety  in  a  tight  and  far-away  limbo 
of  forgetfulness.  And  thus  went  all  the  breezy  days 
and  starlit  nights  of  that  rolling  ])assage  to  the 
half-forgotten  destination  of  Port  Moresby  of  New 
Guinea. 

Barefoot  Javanc^  boys,  in  bright  sarongs,  a  grave 
asi)cct  drawn  over  their  disjwsition  to  be  merry- 
some  of  tlicm  wrinkled  old  fellows  without  teeth — 
barefoot  Javanese  scr  ?d  the  abundant  table.  A 
Dutch  provender,  this,  a  Dutch  cooking,  too,  no 
doubt,  in  a  ship's  Dutch  vcn,  and  Dutch  inventions, 
every  dish,  but  with  notal  i  Javanese  improvements, 
and  all  slyly  mitigated  to  the  palate  with  the  trojiic- 
al  flavors  of  Java  —  a  cunning  application  of  Java- 
nese art  to  the  substantial  Dutch  structure  of  the 
concoctions,  as  it  were.  A  hai)py  curiosity,  no  less 
than  a  natural  zest,  would  occupy  our  thoiights,so!ne- 
times,  and  draw  us  to  the  cjuict  table,  in  expecta- 
tion of  some  new  thing,  when  the  great  gong  bfx)med 
— slow  and  soft  and  musical,  at  first,  and  rising  to  a 
clang  of  command,  and  beginning  to  sink  to  silence, 
then,  with  an  occasional  clap  of  warning,  as  if  cull- 
ing us  to  a  religious  obligation,  which  we  might 
neglect  at  our  iK'ril.  A  slow  procession:  in  that 
weather,  which  was  an  accejjtable  opiate—  sunlight 
and  mist  of  warm  rain  and  falling  dark — we  went 
down  to  the  glittering  little  salo<in  with  the  air  of 
folk  stalking  to  church,  but  not  with  the  same  atti- 
tude of  spirit.  And  the  .ship  rolled  to  ]>ort,  and 
rolled  to  starlxKird,  and  rolled  to  port  again,  and 
rolled  to  starboard  once  more,  all  with  the  regularity 
and  drowsy  result  of  a  mother's  rocking.     And  there 

21.1 


I 


!^l 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

were  disks  of  blue  sky  beyond  the  open  port-holes, 
on  the  starboard  roll,  and  disks  of  blue  sea,  splashed 
with  white  water,  on  the  i)ort  roll;  and  great  round 
beams  of  sunshine  came  in,  and  were  like  yellow 
searchlights,  slowly  moving,  never  still — and  the 
disks  of  sea  were  black,  at  night,  and  the  disks  of 
sky,  too,  thoir  dust  of  stars  being  lost  beyond  the 
bright  light  we  sat  in. 

Our  shij)  fairly  sw  rmed  with  barefoot  Javanese 
boys  in  bright  sarongs- old  boys  and  young  ones: 
from  the  shriyelcd  (|uarlcrmaster  to  the  captain's 
midget.  And  they  kept  tiie  ship;  and  the  ship  was 
white  and  shining  and  sweet — board  and  brass  of 
it — every  expanse  and  ever>'  nook  our  eyes  chanced 
to  search.  And  they  served  the  long,  shady  lower 
deck,  which  was  amidshijis  an(^  roofed  witli.  awnings, 
and  they  served  ihi  sunny  u])per  deck;  and  without 
any  telling  whatsoever,  and  before  a  notion  of  the 
wish  had  broken  upon  our  drowsy  intelligence,  they 

iioved  chairs  into  the  sun,  and  moved  chairs  out 
of  the  sun,  and  t(X)k  down  awnings  to  give  way 
to  the  sun,  and  put  \\p  awnings  against  the  sun, 
aiid  took  'em  down  again  to  let  the  breeze  blow 
through  the  shady  places.  And  so  softly  did  they 
accomplish  these  affairs,  which  were  awkward 
enough  for  the  deftest  hands  that  ever  you  saw  at 
work,  that  no  nod  t)r  wink  of  sleep  was  interrupted, 
nor  the  lightest  slumlwr  needlessly  disturlx.>d;  and 
such  was  the  deference  of  their  behavior,  in  gctieral, 
and  so  nearly  did  their  apprehension  of  our  needs 
resemble  a  magical  i)erformatice,  in  the  service  of  the 
comfort  of  us  all,  that  we  must  every  one  yield  to  the 
delight  of  it  and  finu  something  to  praise  in  this  keep- 
ing of  a  dark-skinned  i>eople  in  a  sort  of  subjection. 

214 


ACROSS   THE   CORAL   SEA 

And  all  this  while  they  were  content,  not  sullen, 
like  some  natives:  being  squatted  asleep,  in  out-of- 
the-way  comers,  when  off  watch — so  that,  piying 
about,  one  must  not  tread  on  them— or  at  play  on 
the  forward  deck,  whence  their  laughter  drifted  back 
to  us.  A  sUpshod  Chinese  boy,  however,  served 
the  smoking-room:  the  matter  of  money  being  in- 
trusted to  the  Chinese,  in  all  these  parts,  it  seems— 
who  love  money  more  than  any  others  do. 

The  captain  was  a  young  Dutchman,   and  the 
chief  was  a  younger  Dutchman,  and  the  first  officer 
was  a  younger  Dutchman  still;   and  all  the  juniors, 
whether  of  the  bridge  or  the  engine-room,  were  such 
very  young  Dutchmen,  indeed,  that  we  wondered  how 
long  they  had  been  out  of  knickerbockers  of  a  volumi- 
nous Dutch  description,  and  whence  their  strut  and 
air  of  authority,   which   were   surely   not   derived 
from  their  years,  and  where  they  had  learned  the 
will  to  challenge  responsibility  and  the  manner  of 
seeming  able  to  vanquish  every  difficulty  the  sea 
could  present.     Not  one  of  them  (we  thought)  but 
would  say,  "Pooh!"  to  a  hurricane.     The  purser, 
who  was  the  chief  steward  as  well,   was  a  gray 
Englishman  of  a  threadbare  heartiness,  which  he 
had  worn  out,  no  doubt,  in  a  too-long  service  in  the 
trades  of  the  East  Indies— a  great  reader  of  the  Greek 
when  he  had  time  (said  he) ;  and  I  fancy  that  he 
cased  his  loneliness,  which  compelled  him  to  melan- 
choly, poor  chap!  in  a  shaq'  keeping  of  the  ship  as 
clean  as  a  Dutch  kitchen.     The  captain's  canaries— 
a  melodious  crew  in  Dutch  cages— sang  in  a  lan- 
guage intelligible  to  anybody,  and  were  in  happy  for- 
tune all  the  while,  if  chin)s  and  trills  and  flights  of 
song  meant  anything  at  all;  but  the  captain's  par- 
15  "S 


i  ^- 


'■i: 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

rot  was  a  stupid,  loud,  illiterate  bird,  having  no  com- 
mand of  language,  blithering  without  meaning  and 
at  a  shocking  rate,  so  that  wc  detested  the  unaccom- 
plished creature — until  the  captain  told  us  that  the 
bird  spoke  excellent  Dutch  and  had  mastered  a  good 
deal  more  than  the  mere  matter  of  profane  swearing : 
whereupon  we  learned  respect  for  the  captain's  par- 
rot, and  were  heartily  ashamed  of  ourselves,  resolv- 
ing never  again  to  be  caught  in  a  pitiable  lapse 
like  that. 


i 


I'il^ 


I 


XXXIX 


MR.    TODD 


WE  were  of  one  class,  which  was  first-class,  to 
be  sure;  and  this  was  a  jolly  good  thing — mak- 
ing for  a  promiscuously  jovial  behavior,  as  comfort- 
able to  the  passage  as  the  drowsy  weather  was.  A 
busy  little  two-thousand-ton  packet,  in  a  remote 
trade,  like  this,  with  cargo  to  treat  with  scrupulous 
respect,  must  ignore  the  proprieties,  in  respect  to  the 
contact  of  the  mighty  with  the  meek,  and  has  neither 
the  time  nor  the  temper  nor  the  room  to  spare, 
to  exalt  the  one  and  cast  down  the  other,  in  the  way 
of  the  glittering  great  world  of  the  P.  and  O.  If  she 
manages  a  dividing-line — and  keeps  it  drawn  and 
impassable — which  favors  all  white  folk  with  the 
run  of  the  ship,  and  confines  the  inconsiderable  black 
and  chocolate  and  tan  and  yellow,  with  the  various 
colors  of  their  admixture,  to  the  invisible  seclusion 
of  deck  -  passage,  she  docs  well  enough  and  may 
honestly  advertise  the  excellence  of  her  accommo- 
dations. We  were  miners,  missionaries,  planters, 
adventurers,  commercial  travelers,  civil-service  per- 
sonages, and  birds-of-passage ;  and  we  were  the 
wives  and  children  of  birds-of-passagc,  civil-service 
]>crsonages,  planters,  missionaries  or  miners — the  ad- 
venturers and  commercial  travelers  among  us  having 

217 


i     it. 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

none.  There  was  but  one  Silver-Tail  aboard;  and 
she.  the  good  lady,  was  so  serenely  perched,  alone 
in  her  social  altitude,  which  nobody  had  the  temerity 
to  challenge,  and  so  amiably  inclined  altogether,  in 
the  sleepy  heat  of  the  voyage,  that  we  should  not 
have  recognized  her  species,  at  all,  had  it  not  been 
for  the  lift  of  her  chin,  and  the  set  of  her  counte- 
nance, and  the  variety  and  depth  of  her  gowns,  when 
she  swept  into  dinner,  a  bit  late,  with  a  rubicund 
old  father  in  attendance,  and  a  chip  of  a  son  in  the 
wake  of  both.' 

Nobody  could  account  for  Mr.  Todd.  The  cap- 
tain was  in  the  dark:  the  purser  was  in  the  dark. 
Nobodv  knew  where  he  came  from— nobody  knew 
where  he  was  bound  for— and  had  Mr.  Todd  had  his 
way,  I  am  sure,  nobody  would  have  known  even 
so  much  about  him  as  the  inconsequential  little  fact 
of  his  existence.  Mr.  Todd  was  a  very  small,  very 
thin,  very  carelessly  fashioned,  pinch-featured  bit 
of  a  man,  with  a  ragged  red  mustache,  and  with 
thin,  pale  hair,  parted  with  precision,  and  compelled 
with  oil  to  maintain  that  painful  position  upon  a 
scalp  which  was  never  once  wrinkled  to  relieve  it. 
Mr.  Todd  had  head  and  heels,  of  course,  and  hands, 
cars,  nose,  chin,  and  the  like  of  that:  but  whether 
Mr.  Todd  had  eyes  or  not,  nobody  knew,  except 
from  inference,  for  you  might  look  at  Mr.  Todd  as 
often  as  you  liked,  and  as  long  as  he  would  let  you, 
and  from  any  angle  you  chose,  or  could  obcain,  but 
you  could  never  discover  any  eyes  in  his  head,  how- 
ever patiently,  however  alertly,  you  might  stalk  him 

>In  the  Australian  littsh  a  Silvtt-T,  '.  ^  an  inionK'niunsly  fcalli- 
tri'il  imlivi'hial  <>f  an  imonKriKiusly  aristccralic  liabil  of  behavior 
and  utterance — a  human  individual,  of  course. 

218 


MR.    TODD 


to  see;  and  whether  Mr.  Todd  had  a  tongue  or  not, 
with  which  he  could  say  more  than  a  startled  "Good 
morning!" — whether  he  possessed  a  tongue  he  could 
use  for  more  than  a  moment  without  completely  ex- 
hausting it — nobody  coultl  find  out,  though  ever>-- 
body  trcd.  Mr.  Todd  dressed  for  these  tropics  in 
hot  blvie  serge,  and  hot  black  shoes,  and  hot  black-silk 
shirts,  and  a  hot  high  celluloid  collar  (which  had 
sinister  designs  on  his  throat),  and  a  hot  black 
cravat,  and  a  hot  blue  caj);  and  withal  he  was  clad 
so  heavily,  and  carried  such  a  weight  of  watch- 
chain,  that  it  made  one  perspire  to  see  him  pace  the 
deck. 

It  v.-as  Mr.  Todd's  custom  to  pace  the  deck  with  an 
antiquated  telescope  under  his  arm  and  the  air  of 
having  a  moment  ago  shouldered  all  the  duties  of 
this  ticklish  navigation;  but  when  Mr.  Todd  de- 
sired to  observe  what  passed — or  even  to  search  the 
empty  .sea  for  incident— he  would  importantly  retire 
to  a  comer  of  the  smoking-room,  seat  himself  at 
ease,  extend  the  sections  of  his  telescope  to  the  limit 
of  its  enormous  length,  and  take  his  observation 
through  the  opposite  port -hole.  Mr.  Todd  occasion- 
ally had  something  of  everything  at  dinner,  in  a  way 
to  fluster  the  barefoot  Javanese  boys  and  amaze  all 
the  spectators  of  his  gastronomical  achievement;  he 
would  begin  precisely  at  the  beginning,  with  no 
visible  evidence  of  trepidation,  but  quite  the  con- 
trar>%  and  go  clean  through  to  the  end,  omitting  not 
an  item  by  the  way,  and  with  nothing  better  to 
assist  him  than  two  bottles  of  port  wine.  It  was 
not  often  that  little  Mr.  Todd  settled  himself  to  the 
performance  of  this  large  feat;  but  when  he  did — 
when   the  undertaking  was  once  under  way  —  he 

219 


1 


1 1'  '\ 


i     I 


l'       I 


J.  t' 

ii' 


I, 


i      1 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

would  carry  it  off  with  dignity  and  retire  to  his 
repose.     Mr.  Todd's  repose,  moreover,  was  a  mys- 
tery of  the  ship— how  he  managed  to  achieve  re- 
pose in  the  heat  of  these  nights  (without  the  help  of 
the  occasional  port  wine) :   for  the  old  fellow  in  the 
bright  sarong,  whose  duties  positively  informed  him 
of  the  bewildering  truth,  reported  to  the  steward, 
who  divulged  his  surprise  to  the  passengers,  that  it 
was  Mr.  Todd's  custom  to  close  and  screw  up  his 
port-hole,  upon  retiring,  and  to  lock  his  door,  and 
to  stuff  the  ventilator  with  a  pillow.     It  was  no 
mystery,  after  all,  perhaps:   Mr.  Todd  stifled  him- 
self into  a  comatose  state  and  survived  by  being 
able  to  come  out  of  it  in  the  nick  of  time  to  save  his 

life. 

Mr.  Todd  left  us  unexpectedly  in  a  port  of  Java- 
far  away  from  the  Coral  Sea. 

"Gone!"  says  the  captain,  portentously. 

"Gone?     Mister  Todd!" 

"Mm-m!" 

All  this,  you  will  presently  know,  is  not  m  ndicule 
of  Mr.  Todd.    We  were  warmly  attached  to  the 
queer,  timid  little  man,  however  mean  his  station, 
however  slender  his  purse;    and  we  should  have 
heartened  his  courage— even  conspiring  cunningly 
together  to  this  end— had  he  not  started  away  from 
us  in  a  fright  that  was  painful  to  behold.    I  would  not 
ridicule  Mr.  Todd.     I  present  him:  that  is  all.     And 
you  will  find  your  own  Mr.  Todd  if  ever  you  travel 
these  seas.     They  are   the  seas  of   romance— the 
windy,  blue  seas,  sunlit  and  hot,  with  coral  shores  and 
cocoanut  islands:  so  that  a  man,  when  his  thoughts 
nm  away  to  them,  truant  from  the  inimical  pressure 
of  his  duties,  or  in  disgust  with  the  dull  repetitions 

220 


MR.   TODD 

of  his  life,  or  broken  by  the  fever  of  it,  or  desperate 
with  the  constraint  of  it — so  that  a  man  says  in 
his  heart,  "Ah,  if  I  could  go  there,  how  quickly  I 
should  be  healed!"  Not  one  of  us  but  pitied  the 
invalidism  of  poor  little  Mr.  Todd  and  heartily 
wished  him  the  restoration  he  was  searching  for  in 
this  travel  of  the  tropical  Eastern  seas.  Nor  was 
there  any  escape  from  dwelling  upon  his  perilous 
situation  in  that  strange  city — his  protracted  battle 
with  those  odds  of  nervous  fear  which  must  over- 
master him  In  the  end.  Yet  we  must  admire  his 
spirit:  he  is  surely  a  good  warrior  who  fights  his 
fight  alone  in  strange  places. 


I 


II 


I  il. 


t    I 


XL 


QUEST   OF    ROMAN'CE 

WE  who  were  in  no  bad  way  found  this  voyage 
of  the  Coral  Sea  to  our  taste.    A  little  packet, 
this:    we  were  low  in  the  splash  and  blue  roll,  close 
to  the  sea.  which  tumbled  and  broke  on  a  level  with 
us,  in  a  sportive  fashion,  and  in  a  friendly  contact 
with  us,  too,  touching  us  sometimes  with  a  jovial 
fhower  of  s])ray,  and  for  ever  swishing  near,  like  a 
gossipy  fellow  of  our  own  company,  who  might  play 
us  a  prank  the  ver>-  next  moment  and  break  into 
laughter   with    us.     After   breakfast,    the   morning 
wind  blowing  fresh,  and  the  decks  cool  with  washing, 
the  ship  was  wide  awake— all  awake,  sir,  and  wide 
awake,  and  dctem lined  to  stay  awake.     Brisk  pac- 
ing, now— and  shining  faces  and  lusty  tones.     Mid- 
morning  coming  on,  this  fi:,,ht  of  energy  suffered  its 
inevitable  collapse.     The  ship  sat  down— reclined, 
presently— read  a  little — nodded  a  little — was  a  bit 
shamefaced  to  be  caught  nodding  at  that  hour — but 
dozed  a  little,  just  the  same— and  at  last  helplessly 
succumbed  to  the  languor  of  the  day.    It  was  not  until 
the  tea  hour  was  imminent  that  the  ship  came  again 
to  its  waking  senses:    and  then  there  was  a  great 
yawning  and  stretching,  and  chatter  and  stirring 
about,  and  many  a  "Well,  well,  well!"  of  amazement 

222 


•i'. 


seas  r-n 


,Y    l.^lii^.it,.  1 


'    a 


QUEST   OF    ROMANCE 

to  find  the  day  so  far  spent— which  was  precisely 
what  the  ship  exclaimed  yesterday  at  precisely  the 
same  hour,  and  would  exclaim  to-morrow,  with  pre- 
cisely the  same  degree  of  astonishment.  But  one 
day  of  the  seven— Cairns  to  Papua  and  back  to 
Thursday  Island— was  lived  wide  awake:  the  day 
of  the  sports— the  crew  competing,  and  the  passen- 
gers contributing  nothing  more  to  exhaust  them  in 
that  heat  than  laughter  and  applause. 

At  night— the  dark  of  the  moon-  the  long  lower 
deck  was  a  livelv,  cozv  little    •  ri.  r  .^f  the  big  world. 
Light  overflowed  it.     Big  lu..  i-   ^.eas  r-n  mto  the 
yellow  gl(iw,  like  children  '    n'. 
chief,  and  broke  all  at  o"  •    r 
and  scampered  away,  ;;     ".'>'. 
notion    that   they  hc>>"i   ;  '  --• 
consternation.     They  n.ulr  m 
night  of  the  masque;  >  1     ci. 
nights,  like  naughty  bo\ ...  '  • 
came  inboard— a  troupe  of  t! 
deck,  and  drenched  the  di... 
the  piano,  and  put  an  end  to  iuc  Jc^avuies  before 
midnight.    The  young   Dutch  captain   was  indig- 
nant   with    this    obstreperous    behavior— and    the 
young  lOutch  chief,  too,  and  all  the  young  juniors; 
and  although  the  captain  did  not  express  the  inten- 
tion, in  so  many  words,  his  grim  attitude  might  easily 
have  led  one  to  fancy  that  he  would  take  the  matter 
up  in  the  moming,  when  he  had  commanded  his  ill- 
temper,  and  could  administer  correction  with  the 
best  ])arental  discretion.     Whatever  he  did  about  it 
-which  was  possibly  nothing  at  all— after  the  great 
occasion  of  the  masquerade  the  sea  did  not  once 
lapse  from  manners  of  the  most  charming  desc    > 

223 


'■.\—::<' 
'inii 


■n  mis- 

wliite, 

h  the 

:  -.!^  .  .  .it  of 
1  .  'f^,,  on  the 
;  iiigi^t,  of  all 
'cso' .e:  they 
ilooded  the 
JM  ommoded 


4  ^'l 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

tion.  Evcr>'  niKlit,  on  the  lonj^  lower  deck,  the  wicker 
chairs  were  grouiK'd,  and  tables  were  out  for  cards 
and  dominoes  and  chess;  and  the  lights  j^lowed — 
the  awninj^s  flopi)ed— the  ])iano  tinkled— and  the 
best  wear  of  them  all  was  displaj'cd — and  there  w^i 
a  happy  clatter  and  laughter  until  long  past  twelve 
o'clock. 


Through  all  these  mild  gaieties  a  faded  little  lady 
fluttered  like  a  butterfly  of  impoverished  attractions 
— sipping  dro])s  of  wit  and  laughter  and  ])onderous 
conversation  so  avidly  that  it  seemed  she  could  never 
sip  her  full:  being  all  the  while  so  restless  and  eager 
that  her  opportunity  for  enjoyment  was  damaged 
by  sheer  fear  that  some  drops  of  all  that  abundant 
honey  would  escape  her.  She  had  come  by  way  of 
Sydney  (said  she)  from  an  island  of  the  South  Seas, 
where  she  had  lived  many  years  with  her  husband, 
the  manager  of  a  plantation,  and  his  two  white 
heliKTs  and  their  wives  and  children;  and  she  was 
bound,  now,  in  the  high  .sjjirits  of  a  belter  expecta- 
tion, to  rejoin  her  husl)and  in  the  midst  of  the  East 
Indies,  where  he  was  newly  become  the  manager  of 
another  plantation,  near  the  Line — an  island  more 
remote  and  savage  than  she  had  left,  and  a  life  more 
lonely,  since  her  husband  was  the  only  white  man 
there  and  she  was  to  be  the  only  white  woman. 
And  now  was  the  amazing  interval — a  brief  flight 
through  the  crowd  and  merriment  of  the  world,  as 
through  a  patch  of  sunshine  or  a  lighted  room.  It 
was  to  be  observed  that  as  the  voyage  progressed 
the  faded  little  lady  progressively  yielded  to  the 
new  customs.  Mrs.  Silver -Tail  patronized  her. 
lX>ubtless   that  good  lady  whisijcrcd,   "My  dear, 

a24 


QUEST   OF    ROMANCE 

they  do  it  ri'cryubcrc!"  Presently,  at  any  rate,  the 
faded  little  lad\  hoj^an  to  repair  the  ravages  of  a 
tro])ical  climate  with  innocent  little  touches  of  rouge. 
Indeed,  she  was  a  radiant  little  creature,  and  owed 
the  rotige  no  thanks:  her  eyes  were  bright,  her  smile 
broke  honestly,  and  her  chatter  was  crisp  with  little 
trills  of  laughter. 

Our  missionaries  were  going  together  to  the  Roper 
River  district  of  Australia  to  teach  the  savage 
aborigines  of  that  horrible  country  the  elements  of 
Christianity  and  the  first  princii)lcs  of  agriculture. 
The  one  was  a  dry,  pale,  grave  man,  coming  elderlj' 
in  age,  with  a  slow,  precise  habit  of  sjx'cch,  which 
frcrmcntly  lai)sed  into  ungrammatical  forms.  He 
had  been  a  haberdasher's  shopman  (said  he);  but 
was  aow — having  undergone  a  violent  religious  ex- 
perience some  years  before — most  earnestly  intent 
ujion  communicating  his  philosophy  to  the  bestial 
inhabitants  of  the  Roper  River  wilderness.  For  this 
emi)loymcnt  he  had  painstakingly  fitted  himself  ac- 
cording to  the  retiuirements;  and  being  here  close 
up«)n  his  work,  at  last,  he  was  a  hai)py  fellow,  con- 
siderably subdued  by  a  heavy  sense  of  resf)onsibility. 
His  companion  was  a  lusty  young  minister,  in  a  cleri- 
cal vest  and  collar — a  great,  heart >',  laughing  chap, 
loving  a  jest  and  a  dinner,  and  not  disinclinefl,  you 
may  be  sure,  toward  the  physical  adventures  of  the 
life  into  which  he  was  going.  They  knew  little  of 
savage  customs,  less  of  the  country,  and  not  a  word 
of  alK)riginal  dialect ;  but  they  were  confidently 
IKTsuarlcd  that  time  and  industry  would  yield  them 
knowledge,  and  that  this  hard  task,  to  which  they 
had  addressed  themselves  with  pleased  courage, 
would  issue  in  a  sufficient  triumph.     A  term  of  torn- 

2iS 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

pletc  isolation  confronted  them — I  recall  it  as  seven 
years;  and  we  wondered  concerning  the  inspiration 
of  these  men — that  they  should  freely  submit  their 
lives  to  this  prolonged  hardship. 

Our  adventurers  were  five  young  men.  bound  to 
Thursday  Island,  traveling  as  gentlemen,  who  had 
come  all  this  way  in  search  of  i)rofit,  which  must 
ofler  itself,  however,  as  an  addition  to  the  delights 
of  romantic  adventure  or  be  rejected.  There  was 
young  Smith:  he  led  — an  American  who  had 
roughed  it  in  Western  Australia,  in  his  time,  having 
once  (said  he)  iKuight  a  train  of  camels,  from  an 
individual  with  the  dry-horrt)Ts,  an<l  jmifitably  pur- 
sued the  business  of  trans]K)rting  water  in  the  dry- 
lands until  the  adventure  ran  (nit  itssands  of  interest 
and  he  must  be  away  to  the  Klondike  to  renew  his 
zest.  In  Alaska,  young  Smith  rescued  young  Jones 
from  a  hanging  ])redieament,  having  to  do  witli  the 
sale  of  a  mining  claim,  and  stnick  a  ])artnershii)  with 
the  spirited  chaj).  In  Alabama,  young  Smith  and 
young  Jones  encountered  young  Robinson;  i.iid  as 
young  Robinson  had  nothing  to  do,  and  would  do 
nothing  irksome,  he  was  easily  ix^rsuaded  to  join 
fortunes  with  yoting  Smith  and  young  Jones,  who 
l)romised  him  no  dull  enii)loymcnt.  in  Paris, 
Smith  and  Jones  and  Roliinson  It  II  in  with  young 
Thomi)Son,  an  Knglishman.  Thompsoti  was  en- 
gaged in  the  study  of  architecture;  In-  abatidotud 
it  for  g(MKl  and  all  when  Smith  ]Kinte(l  out  that 
diving  for  ]M';irls  out  of  Thursday  island  was  a  more 
lively  and  huralive  iMtnpali<in.  In  j.ondon.  Smith 
and  Jones  and  Robinson  and  'i'hompson,  then  out- 
fitting for  tlu"  Smth  S<-;i  trade,  c  latueti  in;<»  the  con- 
vivial eompany  ol    \(iung  Johnson;  and  as  young 

2J0 


QUEST   OF    ROMANCE 

Johnson's  family  desired  his  absence  from  London, 
and  was  willing  to  procure  it  at  a  price,  provided 
the  distance  was  considerable,  the  matter  of  his 
enlistment  was  quickly  arranged. 

It  was  a  i)rctty  plan :  the  design  and  specifications 
could  rot  have  been  more  alluring  had  the  young 
architect  of  the  party  been  an  accomplished  archi- 
tect of  romantic  futures  for  young  gentlemen — had 
he  Ix'cn  directed  to  indulge  his  fancy  as  he  jjleased. 
What  deep  talk  there  was  in  the  Paris  cafe  and  Lon- 
don bar-  what  laughter  and  expectant  toasts— 
evcr\-  man  will  know  who  has  been  young;  and  he 
will  know\  too,  what  visions  of  pleasant  happenings 
to  vome,  where  the  free  ends  of  the  earth  are,  fash- 
ioned themselves  in  the  mists  of  smoke— the  wishes 
of  youth,  abundantly  to  realize  themselves  in  ro- 
mance. In  the  hold  of  the  Dutch  luicket,  here,  at 
last,  cn)ssing  the  Coral  Sea,  was  the  trade:  gin  and 
trinkets  and  tobacco  and  bright  cloth— the  like  of 
that.  And  there  was  also  a  second-hand  diving 
(»utfit.  They  wtmld  buy  a  lugger  (said  they);  and 
they  would  sail  her  themselves,  with  the  help  of  a 
J.-ijianese  skipixr,  and  they  would  fisli  the  Cireat 
Harrier  Reef,  and  the  coral  of  the  Torres  Strait,  for 
shell  arul  i)earl.  Sui)1K)sc  that  failed:  then  they 
would  trade  the  wild  islands-  they  h;id  designs  on 
Timor,  I  re«'all-  for  cojmi,  meanwhile  secretly  plant- 
ing cmoanut-trees,  when  ()piH)rtiuiity  arose,  to  the 
riches  of  which  they  would  return  after  seven  years, 
as  to  a  buried  treasure.  Atul  Mii)i)ose  that  faiU-d: 
thiii  they  would  load  the  lugger  with  savages  and 
curios  and  .sail  her  across  the  Pacitic  to  San  IVan- 
eisco  in  time  to  grow  rich  as  merchants  and  show- 
men at  the  Panun^.a  E.\position. 

927 


*t  i 

1 


i.,1 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

"Supi)osc  you  can't  do  that?" 

"Well,"  says  Smith,  the  leader,  "/  can  cook  for 

a  living." 

They  were  come  for  good,  at  any  rate.     It  was  a 
desperate  adventure.     There  was  no  return.     Ex- 
cept for  cash  sufficient  to  buy  the  lugger,  the  fortunes 
of  them  all  were  ex[>ended  in  trade  and  passage- 
money.     A  miscalculation  —  a  misfortune  —  would 
cast  them  every  one  on  the  beach.     And  the  (Icsiht- 
ate  eharac-tcr  of  the  thing  was  indicated  by  the  habit 
and  behavior  of   the  young  architect.     He   was  a 
young   architect    no  longer;    iic   was   a   full-grown 
desiH'rado-  his  sweater  and  scowl,  and  his   expec- 
tation of  offense  and  tricker>',  and  his  swagger  and 
])olations.  and  his  bulging  hip-pocket.     Already  he 
had  accumulrited  a  despised   past--c-arly   years  of 
mild  and  sheltered  lile.     No  gentleman's  existence 
now.  you   may   liclieve!     A   i)ucaneerish   life   in   a 
world  without   law!     I     was    agreeable  to  contem- 
plate the  young  archiuit,  indeed:    it  was  a  jiretty 
child's  play-  he  was  young,  and  he  was  in  earnest, 
and  he  was  ai)proaching  the  frontiers  f)f  romance,     it 
was  he  who  directed  the  physical  i)reparation  of  the 
l)arty  for  the  Hearing  adventure;    and  he  was  like 
.'i  trainer  of  athletes     an  implacable  fellow.     Every 
aftem(X)n  he  fetched  Ins  crew  to  the  deck  for  exer- 
cise; and  he  put  them  in  a  circle,  and  had  them  toss 
a  medicine-ball,  and  bade  them  lie  Hat  on  their  l)acks 
and  lift  their  heels  in  the  air.  and  directed  them  to 
lie  n.'it  on  their  lollies  and  lift  tiie.r  weight  with  their 
hands  and   tois,   and  in  other  ways  familiar   to  a 
gymnasium  sought  to  acconi])lish  their  well-being— a 
violent  measure  in  that  heat. 

What  came-  of  it  all  I  do  not  know.     WTien  we 

2JS 


mmmmm 


QUEST   OF    ROMANCE 

left  Thurt;(lay  Island  the  price  of  pcarling-luggers 
had  mysteriously  risen  to  precisely  that  amount  of 
cash  which  the  adventurers  possessed. 

"Hard  luck!"  says  we.  "What  you  going  to 
do?" 

"I'll  wait,"  says  Smith. 

A  shrewd  American!    They  waited. 


a 

3 


XIA 


PAPUA 


BY  and  by  the  little  Dutch  i^aokrl  accomplished 
the  passaj^e  of  the  Coral  Sea  and  was  tied  up 
at  the  wharf  at  Port  Moresby.     It  is  still  eann.bal 
count r^--I^1pua:   the  British  New  Guinea  ol  recent 
times  and  unsavory  memory.     Aboard  the  packet, 
lvin«  in  the  brilliant,  colorful  little  hari>or  of  Port 
Motxisbv,  an<l  ashore,  in  the  deep  tropical  shade, 
with  the  sun  shut  out  and  the  breeze  let  in.  sin^'ular 
t.ales  are  told  of  murder  and  maj^ic.     The  half  ot 
P-ipua-the  whole  beiuK  a  matter  ot  ninety  thousand 
sv'iuare  miles  of  swamp-land,  hardly  accessible  jungle, 
frostv  plateaus,  and  considerable  mountains,  lyniK 
•I  bit  un.lcr  the  Line-has  not  lK>cn  explored;    and 
what  remains  (esccpt  the  patches  of  settled  eountr>'. 
near  the  sea)  is  not  so  familiariy  known  that  no 
mvster%-  attaches  to  its  physical  characteristics  atid 
..'vaKc' customs.     Tnie.  the  land  is  oiK-n  to  settle- 
rent     a   fertile,    lovely   tropical    country,   but   a};- 
-rivatin^  to  white  l>l<xwl.  in   the  way  of  all  new 
Tropical  lands.     It  is  not  now  a  Crown  colony;    it 
is    administered    under    the    Australian    Common- 
wealth    a  patient,   industrious,  eunninj:;.  (.o<l-lear- 
in"  achninistration,  moreover,  imposinj,'  civilization 
in'no  violent  way,  but  adapting;  it.  and  ehenshin},'. 

230 


PAPUA 

in  an  unusual  experiment,  the  preservation  and  en- 
lightenment of  the  native  races,  who  thnve  in  the 
benign  sphere  of  influence,  above  the  wanton  ad- 
vantage of  the  settlers  and  trading  adventurers. 
White  inhabitants  there  are,  to  be  sure,  in  slowly 
increasing  numbers,  a  thousand,  in  round  numbers, 
nowadays,  occupied  with  i)lanting,  mining,  and 
trading,  the  planters  exporting  chiefly  cocoanuts, 
rublxjr,  and  sisal  hemp;  and  of  the  natives  it  is 
roughly  estimated  that  there  are  four  hundred 
thousand,  in  widely  scattered  and  mutually  un- 
friendly tribes,  speaking  many  languages  and  dia- 
lects, and  frankly  given,  in  the  remoter  parts,  to  the 
enjoyment  of  murder  and  the  practice  of  the  ancient 
cannibal  customs.  Notwithstanding  these  dispro- 
portionate numbers  and  established  customs,  and 
in  spite  of  the  amazing  point  of  view  in  relation  to 
the  taking  of  life,  a  white  man  is  reasonably  secure, 
so  surely  and  heavily  has  the  hand  of  the  law  fallen 
ujwn  offenders.  Provided  a  man  walk  circum- 
s]x;ctly  through  the  familiar  places,  with  some  small 
notion  of  ])ropriety  in  resjx;ct  to  native  i)n)i)orty, 
dignity,  and  wives,  he  need  go  in  no  very  grave  fear 
of  being  boiled  and  eaten;  but  let  him  venture  far 
afield,  where  the  law  is  not  and  the  emjihasis  of  the 
government's  disiipprobation  is  unknown,  and  let 
him  prove  himself  a  truculent  fellow  the  while — 
he  may  then  save  himself  from  the  boiling-i)ot  and 
broiling-stones  as  best  his  wit  and  courage  can 
manage. 

"It  is  not,"  a  planter  explained,  with  no  glint  of 
amusement,  "that  a  New  Guinea  native  prefers  a 
white  man,  for  whom,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  has  a 
considerable  distaste." 


16 


231 


'  l:(    t 


•| 


'  • 


1 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

"Distaste!"  wc  exclaimed,  in  astonishment. 
"Why?" 

"Well,  you  see,"  the  planter  rei)lied,  "a  white 
man  is  salty.  And  naturally,  too,  he  tastes  disagree- 
ably of  tobacco.  You  couldn't  expect  anything 
else,  could  you?" 

Little  is  known — much  from  inference,  perhaps, 
nothing  surely,   from   intelligent  contact — of  what 
lies  "beyond  the  mountains,"  in  the  far-away,  un- 
explored places.     Anil   this  region   of  mysterv-  en- 
gages the  hortified  .s])eculation  of  the  natives  of  the 
coastal  regions  as  well  as  the  interest  of  the  white 
inhabitants  of  the  Territory.     It  is  recorded  by  a 
magistrate  of  the  Rigo  district,  for  example,  that 
there  is  declared  to  be  a  village  of  women  with  tails 
in   the  direction   of   Moutit    Hrown.     A  native  in- 
formed the  Ailministralor  of  the  Territory,  as  the 
Administrator  relates,  that  there  is,  at  any  rate,  a 
race  of  tailed   wen   "beyond   the  niouiUains."     "I 
know,"  said  he,  "that  tailed  men  live  iK'yond  the 
mountains."     "Ilcw  do  you  know?"   the  Adminis- 
trator   inquireil.     "I    ate    one,"    was    the    native's 
sufficient  reply.     Another  nativi-.  according  to  the 
Administrator,  protested  that  he  was  perfectly  well 
aware  of  the  existence  and  i)lace  of  habitation  of 
these  tailed  men.     Taken  in  his  garden,  said  he,  he 
had  been  carried  captive  to  the  very  village  of  tailed 
men;   and  he  had  lived  there,  for  many  weeks,  and 
had    acfjuainted    himself   with    tlie    customs   of   the 
tribe,   who  were  so  indultitably   possessed  of  tails, 
indeed,  that  they  had  l)ore<l  holes  in  the  fl(M)rs  of 
their   houses,    whiil.    were   elivated    v]»m    piles,    so 
that,   to  s{|uat  eonifnrlal)ly,  v. lien  at  home,  it  was 
their   custom   to   thrust    their   tails   through   these 

23  J 


^Er 


'm. 


i 


PAPUA 

apertures  and  daii^^lc  ihcni,  unconstrained,  in  the 
space  below,  TIx^  captive,  with  his  very  own  eyes, 
had  observed  thet.i  do  this  very  thing:  and  not  only 
had  he  observed  the  comft)rtably  disposed  appen- 
dages, he  had  himself  slip]>ed  under  the  huuses,  ujKin 
occasion,  and  softly,  very  softly,  tied  a  knot  in  each 
dangling  tail.  It  was  his  pleasure  in  this  way  to 
annoy  the  tailed  men.  In  resjjonse  to  his  outcry 
that  an  enemy  approached,  the  tailed  men  would 
leap  to  their  feet;  and  it  was  vastly  amusing  (said 
he)  to  observe  their  behavior  when  the  knots  brought 
them  back  to  their  haunches  with  a  jerk.  Tailed 
men?  Of  course  there  were  tailed  men!  How  in 
the  world,  it  may  be  inciuired,  could  the  captive 
have  tied  knots  in  the  tails  of  the  tailed  men  if  the 
tailed  men  had  no  tails?  It  is  a  fair  illustration  of 
the  fearsome  regard  in  which  the  New  Guinea  native 
holds  the  unknown  regions — a  fair  illustration,  too, 
of  the  quality  of  the  logic  of  the  New  Guinea  native. 

Papua  has  long  been  known  as  a  blou(l\-  land.  It 
is  a  bloody  land  still.  But  the  blood  of  white  men 
is  rarely  let;  and  the  wanton  slaughter  of  natives, 
the  one  by  the  other-  at  least  in  those  fast  widening 
regions  which  are  within  the  sphere  of  the  law — is 
fast  diminishing.  All  this  being  so,  in  one  year, 
nevertheless,  when  there  were  two  hundred  and 
fifteen  i)risoners  committed  for  trial,  one  himdrcd 
and  eighteen  of  them  were  charged  with  murder, 
nine  with  manslaughter,  and  five  with  attcmjitcd 
murder.  To  the  civilized  mind,  the  motives  to 
murder,  .shocking  enough,  to  Ije  sure — nor  wanting 
an  aspect  of  gruesome  hutnor — are  upon  vK-casion 
incredible.    As  they  are  matters  of  record,  however, 

233 


f 


f\ 


)      I 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

disclosed  upon  painstaking  investigation,  they  are 
to  be  accepted,  not  as  irresix)nsible  tales,  such  as 
wander  about  the  Eastern  seas,  but  as  substantial 
facts   however  singular  and  incomprehensible  they 
may 'appear.     It  is  a  matter  of  court  n  ord    for 
example,  that  certain  natives  of  what  is  i  \hd  the 
Coast  Range,  being  upon  trial  for  the  murdc;  of  two 
carriers  whose  throats  they  had  cut,  admilied  the 
deed,  without  the  least  hesitation,  and  sought  to  jus- 
tify the  ghastly  business  uix)n  the  ground  that  tho 
carriers  had  apix^ared  to  be  "cold  and  hungry"— 
dejected  fellows,  far  away  from  their  village.     The 
prisoners  had  not  eaten  the  carriers.     They  had  mere- 
ly—with the  most  considerate  expedition— cut  the 
throats  of  the  carriers,  who  were  strangers,  at  any 
rate,  and  therefore  of  no  great  consequence ,  and  no 
ingenuity  of  cross-questioning  could  elicit  a  motive 
ulterior  to  the  one  so  ingenuously  advanced— that 
the  carriers,  appearing  to  be  "cold  and  hungry, 
were,  in  the  opinion  of  the  gentlemen  who  had  in- 
continently cut  their  throats,  much  better  dead.    A 
similar  case  of  merciful  extermination  concerned  a 
young  native,  employed  to  shoot  game  for  a  white 
planter,  who  encountered  a  sick  man  (Papuan)  on 
the  road,  near  by  a  river,  and  strangled  him  to  death. 
Upon   trial  he  explained   that   the   sick  man  had 
created  annoyance,  and  a  considerable  embarrass- 
ment, as  well,  by  insistently  requesting  to  be  earned 
across  the  river  to  the  other  side,  whence  his  way 
lay  forw,'ard  to  his  village. 

"Quite  so,"   said   the  presiding  officer.  ^^    Why, 
then,  didn't  you  carry  him  across  the  river?" 

"He  was  too  heavy,"   replied  the  native.^^  "It 
would  have  put  me  to  a  great  deal  of  trouble." 

234 


PAPUA 

"Why  did  you  kill  him?" 
"What  else  could  I  do?  The  man  was  sick." 
It  was  out  of  the  question  to  endure  the  labor  of 
carr>'ing  the  sick  man  across  the  river.  It  was 
equally  out  of  the  question  to  abandon  the  pitiable 
object.  Therefore  the  bewildered  fellow  had  stran- 
gled him — the  most  obvious  way  out  of  a  dilemma 
which  bade  fair  to  distress  his  feelings. 


Ml< 

3tOCOPY   lESOlUTION    TEST  CHART 

lANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No   2l 

1.0    if  "^  1^5 

Mi  11 

t^   Urn     |2.2 

1.1 

-  ,^  — 

III  ''^ 

1.25 

1  '-^    IJ^ 

i 

A     /APPLIED  ll\A^GE     Inc 

A 

flr          i^--.'^    fast    Mo."    '.,'-#*' 

■^^         H,i,h»»it»r,    N««    to'h          Ub09        US* 

XLII 


CASUAL   MURDER 


I 


TWO  natives  of  a  village  near  Ukaudi  were  charged 
before  a  magistrate  with  the  murder  of  a  man 
of  Ukaudi.  True,  they  had  killed  him.  No:  he 
had  not  offended  them.  Animosity  had  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  the  affair.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
they  had  never  seen  the  man  before.  They  had 
killed  him,  said  they,  to  oblige  an  amiable  stranger, 
with  whom  they  had  pleasantly  fallen  in.  and  who, 
desiring  this  death  for  reasons  of  his  own,  which 
were  doubtless  sufficient,  had  entreated  them  to 
accomplish  the  little  favor.  A  Northern  native,  ap- 
prehended for  the  murder  of  his  aged  father,  con- 
fessed that  he  had  killed  him.  Oh,  yes— he  had 
killed  his  father,  all  right!  Why  had  he  killed  his 
father?  "The  old  man,"  he  replied,  "wasn't  much 
good" — and  no  other  motive  could  be  elicited.  An- 
other native  explained  that  his  victim  had  "talked 
too  much  "—bored  him  altogether  beyond  endurance. 
"He  talked  and  talked,"  said  he,  "until  I  couldn't 
stand  it  any  longer.  And  so  I  killed  him."  It  was 
a  similar  propensity  that  inspin  '  a  native  to  beat  his 
wife  nearly  to  death.  "Her  tongtie  never  ceased," 
he  told  the  magistrate,  "and  as  she  trotibled  me 
seriously,  I  beat  her."     Another  native,  upon  trial 

236 


CASUAL    MURDER 

for  a  murderous  assault  upon  his  wife,  the  death  of 
the  woman  having  V)ccn  nearly  accomplished,  ex- 
plained: "I  was  in  a  hurr>'  to  go  to  school.  My 
wife  was  slow  in  bringing  my  reading-book."  A 
village  constable,  one  Bantga  of  Baipa — the  Territory 
is  policed  by  native  constables,  after  a  fashion,  and 
in  a  restricted  way,  under  the  close  direction  of  the 
magistrates — was  taken  in  custody,  charged  with 
leading  a  murderous  raid  against  a  near-by  commu- 
nity, a  crime  of  which  he  was  clearly  guilty.  He  had 
been  for  some  years  in  the  service :  he  was  described 
"in  the  books"  as  "a  good  man."  There  was  no 
reason  why  he  should  have  organized  this  bloody 
expedition  except  that  he  had  had  nothing  else  to  do 
— no  other  pleasure  in  prospect.  And  sheer  ennui, 
indeed,  is  said  to  have  been  the  cause  of  his  lapse 
from  grace.  Dull  days  follow  upon  the  advent  of  the 
law :  the  women  do  the  work  of  the  world ;  a  man 
of  spirit  must  employ  his  energies — must  entertain 
himself — somehow. 

"Sheer  ennui,"  says  the  Administrator,  "has  been 
the  motive  in  many  similar  instances." 

Sheer  ennui,  indeed,  involves  the  Papuan  in  a 
great  deal  of  difficulty.  Invited  all  at  once  to  give 
a  new  direction  to  his  energies — the  thing  is  doubt- 
less both  incomprehensible  and  unattractive — he 
finds  it  difficult  to  adjust  himself  to  the  new  condi- 
tions of  enjoyment.  After  the  sanguinary  delights 
of  the  raid  and  the  man-hunt,  what  joy  can  inden- 
ture to  a  planter  afford,  and  how,  in  the  .secure,  dull 
villages,  can  time  hang  anything  but  heavily  ?  The 
Papuan  must  have  distraction.  It  is  not  an  amusing 
incident  of  administration:  it  is  a  grave  problem. 
The  Administrator  once  tried  two  natives  from  the 

237 


''  h 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

mountains  back  of  Rigo  for  throwing  spears  at  the 
poHce.    It  was  a  serious  offense.    The  v'Aice  must 
not  be  molested;   and  the  Papuans  knew  it— knew 
that  the  diverting  sport  had  gravely  endangered 
them.     Nevertheless,  they  pleaded  guilty.    The  Ad- 
ministrator explained— through  several  interpreters, 
to  make  sure  of  driving  the  admonition  home— that 
the  Papuans  must  never  again  throw  spears  at  the 
police.     To  his  amazement  the  Papuans  asked  that 
they  might  be  hanged.     "But  why?"  inquired  the 
Administrator.     "Throwing  spears  at  the  police  is 
the  only  pleasure  wc  have  left,"  replied  the  Papuans, 
disconsolately.     "You  have  said  that  we  must  not 
throw  spears  at  the  police  any  more.     Let  us  be 
hanged.     We  do  not  want  to  live  any  longer."     The 
constable  who  led  the  murderous  raids  for  lack  of 
other  entertainment  was  sentenced  to  seven  years' 
imprisonment.      Other   lapses  of  the  police   have 
been  punished  less  severely.     I  recall  the  case  of 
Karara,  sometime  village  constable,  a  man  whose 
record  was  dark,  who  had  led  raids  in  the  Delta,  and 
who  in  search  of  acceptable  excitement,  had  taken 
part'  in  a  deal  of  tribal  fighting.     For  his  misdeeds 
(he  was  probably  never  caught  red-handed)  he  "was 
deprived  of  his  clothes"— a  degradation  of  conse- 
quence and  a  brutal  blow  to  his  vanity.     It  was  no 
light  punishment.     The  Papuan  is  devoted  to  the 
wearing  of  clothes— so  devoted  to  the  new  fashion, 
indeed,  that  the  government  goes  to  great  lengths 
of  alarm  in  discouragement  of  the  vicious  practice. 

Wearing  clothes  is  emphatically  discouraged  by 
the  administration.  The  fashion,  indeed,  is  con- 
demned   with    temper.     One   magistrate   goes   the 

23S 


I. AIDS   111- \ii-i>Ki»i^^  \M>  wii  D-m;  \tim;  drims  mark  tiik 
I  i;ki;m<)M  \i,  1)\n(  ic 


1 


n 


:    I 


■      I 


H  t 


I  t 
t 


I 


W 


fi,       ' 


« 


CASUAL   MURDER 

length  of  declaring  that  "the  curse  of  rags"  shotdd 
forthwith  be  prohibited  by  law— that  it  should  be 
made  a  criminal  ofifense  for  a  native  to  wear  more 
than  a  loin-cloth  and  a  woman  to  adorn  herself  with 
anything  more  voluminous  and  unsanitary  than  a 
brief  grass  skirt.     I  do  not  know  what  part  the  mis- 
sionaries have  in  encouraging  the  native  population 
to  clothe  its  perfectly  inoffensive  nakedness.     In 
Port  Moresby,  I  recall,  a  shocking  contrast  to  the 
modest  native  attire  of  the  women  who  were  un- 
loading the  packet  while  we  lay  at  the  wharf,  was 
presented  by  a  group  of  their  idle  sisters,  who  ap- 
peared each  in  a  loose  garment  commonly  known,  i 
believe   as  a  Mother  Hubbard.    It  was  something 
to  laugh  at,  to  be  sure— the  flirtatious  vanity  and 
grotesque  appearance  of  these  ample  rnaidens.     It 
was  revolting,   too.    One  might  search  the  open 
world  in  vain  for  a  more  striking  exhibition  of  im- 
modesty;  and  one  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  missionaries  were  in  fault-that  the  benevolent 
folk  at  Home  had  sought  to  further  missionary  en- 
deavor in  a  cannibal  country  by  contobutmg  the 
civilizing  influence  of  these  discarded  Mother  Hub- 
bards     Yet  I  fancy  that  the  missionanes,  who  are 
far  wiser  than  the  comic  supplements  allow,  were  not 
in  the  least  to  blame-that  the  traders  were  at  the 
bottom  of  this  unhappy  change  in  costume.    Clothes 
are  worn  by  the  New  Guinea  native  with  no  degree 
of  circumspection.    They  are  never  taken  off-ex- 
cept  to  be  traded;  and  consequently,  bemg  counted 
articles  of  trade,  they  pass  from  hand  to  hand,  from 
district  to  district,  proceeding  from  the  settlements 
to  the  far-away  regions,  leaving  a  trail  of  contamina- 
tion to  mark  their  course.     Where  the  natives  take 

239 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

to  them  "to  an  immoderate  degree"  (the  reports 
declare),  there  is  an  alarming  increase  in  "the  lung 
disease."  The  object  of  a  discerning  administration 
seems  to  be  a  paradoxical  attempt  to  civilize  the 
native  without  interrupting  his  healthfully  naked 
condition. 


) 


M 


11  • 


n. 


XLIII 


THE  CORPSE  AND  THE  CONSTABLE 


SOME  of  the  New  Guinea  murders— to  return  to 
the  matter  of  casual  blood-letting— are  done  in 
mere  childish  explosions  of  temper.     They  indicate 
what  manner  of  difficulty  the  administration  encoun- 
ters in  dealing  with  a  fixed  and  traditional  propen- 
sity to  shed  blood.     How  cheap  life  is— how  incon- 
sequential its  taking!    And  how  amazingly  insecure 
life  v.^as  before  the  occupation  and   fast  -  growing 
pacification  of  the  land!    And  by  what  a  slender 
thread  it  still  hangs  in  the  remoter,  still  savage  parts! 
A  mere  momentary  lapse  from  caution— and  life  is 
lost.     "One  man"— runs  a  report— "irritated  be- 
cause a  baby  would  not  stop  crying,  killed,  not  the 
baby,  but  his  own  mother;  and  I  remember  a  case 
in  which  a  man  split  open  the  head  of  another  be- 
cause he  could  not  find  his  knife.     So  cases  happen 
of  accidental  wounding,  caused  by  the  habit  these 
people  have  of  discharging  arrows  at  random  when 
they  have  a  headache  or  feel  otherwise  out  of  sorts." 
On  Rossel  Island  they  punish  a  thief  by  killing  the 
woman  who  cooks  his  food.     In  some  cases  the  wife 
of  the  thief  is  killed.     In  Port  Moresby  they  relate 
a  plain  tale  of  murder  done  with  no  other  motive 
than  to  relieve  the  feelings.     It  illustrates,  in  a  meas- 

241 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 


1  «■ 

I.I 


II 


..M 


ure.the  inclination  of  a  civilized  man, being  in  a  rage, 
to  kick  something — to  "take  it  out  of  somebody." 
Two  brothers,  it  seems,  owned  a  most  charming  pig. 
And  they  loved  that  pig.  And  the  pig  fell  sick  and 
died.  To  assuage  their  grief  they  sallied  forth  and 
killed  an  unsuspecting  member  of  a  neighboring 
tribe.  The  victim  had  never  seen  the  pig — had  never 
even  heard  of  the  bereaved  brothers.  Had  he  been 
acquainted  with  the  pig,  and  had  he  been  acquainted 
with  the  brothers,  and  had  he  known  that  the 
brothers  were  approaching,  and  that  the  pig  was 
dead,  he  would  doubtless  have  taken  to  his  heels 
with  what  expedition  he  could  command.  It  was 
their  custom,  said  the  brothers,  upon  trial,  to  kill 
somebody,  anybody,  when  a  particularly  beloved  pig 
died.  Had  they  killed  this  man  ?  To  be  sure ! — the 
pig  had  died,  and  it  was  the  custom.  The  magis- 
trate remarks  that  they  were  "still  sighing  like  fur- 
naces" over  the  loss  of  the  beloved  when  they  were 
led  away  to  jail. 

All  the  common  motives  obtain  in  New  Guinea  as 
elsewhere.  A  man  kills  his  enemy  because  he  hates 
him — a  blood  feud,  an  altercation,  a  quarrel  over  a 
woman  (or  a  pig).  And  there  are  a  number  of  pe- 
culiar inspirations.  In  some  districts,  an  assassina- 
tion, for  example,  privileges  a  young  man  to  wear  a 
certain  feather,  in  others  the  beak  of  a  horn-bill; 
and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  coveting  this 
badge  of  valor — it  is,  of  course,  awe-inspiring  and 
highly  attractive  to  the  maidens  of  the  villages — 
brings  many  a  yoimg  fellow  under  the  high  dis- 
pleasure of  the  law.  A  prisoner  who  had  killed  a 
white  man — a  very  rare  occurrence — explained  that 
"whenever  he  wanted  tobacco  he  killed  a  white 

242 


AS    ATTACK    IPON    NATIVE   TREE-DWELLERS 


I 


»•]:! 


,■    I 


n, 


CORPSE    AND   THE    CONS  FA BL 

man."     In  a  swift  punishment  of  this  magical  proc- 
ess the  man  was  hanged.     Certain  inland  natives, 
brought  to  trial  before  the  Administrator  for  an  at- 
tack upon  a  body  of  police,  were  greatly  astonished 
to  find  themselves  charged  with  a  heinous  offense. 
They  had  never  seen  a  policeman  before,  they  said; 
and  they  did  not  know  what  policemen  were— nor 
particularly  liked   the  looks  of  them.     "If,"   said 
they,  apologetically,  "we  had  for  a  moment  imag- 
ined that  you  attached  any  value  to  these  persons, 
we  should  not  have  dreamed  of  hurting  them.     We 
did    not    think    they   were   any  good."     A  certain 
Ilariki.   of  the   Port   Moresby  neighborhood,   biiilt 
himself  a  new  house,  which  he  wished  to  paint  with 
a  mixture  of  red  cla>  and  cocoanut-oil.     As  custom 
forbade  him  to  employ  this  mixture,  however,  until 
he  had  killed  a  man,  he  set  forth  and  murdered  a 
white  man.     That  he  had  no  grudge  against  the  vic- 
tim, who  had  admirably  served  his  purpose,  is  ob- 
vious.    He  sought,  indeed,  by  ever>'  means  in  his 
power— he  had  some  skill  in  incantation — to  charm 
the  dead  man  back  to  life,  and  succeeded,  said  he, 
with  the  legs,  but,  though  he  continued  his  incan- 
tations diligently,  even  until  nightfall,  he  could  make 
no  impression  above  the  mortal  wound  in  the  chest. 
What  is  the  administration  to  do  (it  has  been  asked) 
with  folk  of  such  simpUcity  ?— who  regard  the  taking 
of  life  as  a  feat  of  valor,  a  necessity  of  custom,  a  tra- 
ditional distraction— u  matter  of  no  consequence 
whatsoever. 

A  Resident  Magistrate  visited  a  mountain  tribe 
in  whose  territory  a  number  of  cgxriers  had  mysteri- 
ously vanished. 

"You  killed  the  men?" 

243 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 


4 


ir 


MM   ' 


(11 


Iv 


"Oh  yes." 

"You  must  not  do  it  any  more,  you  know." 

"But,  sir,"  the  villagers  protested,  "the  men  were 
merely  strangers." 

"In  the  sight  of  the  government,  it  is  quite  as 
grave  an  offense  to  kill  a  stranger,"  the  Magistrate 
admonished  them,  imparting  a  bit  of  shocking  infor- 
mation, "as  it  is  to  kill  anybody  else." 

It  is  altogether  probable  that  the  newly  enlight- 
ened villagers  were  thereafter  guided  by  this  per- 
fectly fresh  information.  That  the  natives  are  at 
least  occasionally  moved  to  live  in  respect  of  the 
law,  when  they  are  aware  of  its  requirements,  is 
shown,  at  any  rate,  in  the  case  of  the  Kuni  moun- 
taineers, who  caine  four  days'  journey  to  Kairuku 
to  inquire  of  the  magistrate  if  a  widow  might  marry 
again,  the  village  constable,  a  native,  being  in  doubt. 
In  the  Sinaketa  district,  a  village  constable,  reasoning 
from  what  meager  knowledge  he  had  of  the  bewilder- 
ing regulations  of  the  guvemment,  in  respect  to  the 
ordinan^--  affairs  of  life — though,  indeed,  the  poor  fel- 
low must  have  been  sorely  puzzled  by  the  extraordi- 
nary circumstances — saved  the  villapors  from  a  slight 
error  of  behavior.  The  funeral  of  a  middle-aged  man 
was  in  progress.  Near  the  grave  the  middle-aged 
man  complained  of  discomfort.  It  was  found,  upon 
taking  him  back  to  the  house,  and  unwrapping  the 
mats  with  which  he  was  swathed,  that  what  he 
wanted  was  a  banana.  Having  disposed  of  one 
banana,  he  demanded  another;  and  having  disposed 
of  the  second,  he  reclined,  seeming  now  to  be  satis- 
fied and  dead  beyond  doubt.  Laid  in  his  grave, 
however,  he  complained  again.  It  was  annoying. 
The  middle-aged  man  was  putting  his  relatives  to 

244 


^ 


CORPSE    AND   THE    CONSTABLE 

"shame."  It  was  the  sentiment  of  the  village  that 
he  should  be  buried,  anyhow.  With  this  the  village 
constable  (a  native)  heartilj'  agreed,  speaking  as  a 
man,  but  pointed  out,  speaking  as  a  constable,  that, 
humiliating  as  the  situation  of  the  family  unqties- 
tionably  was,  the  government  would  "make  trouble" 
if  the  man  were  buried  alive.  The  middle-aged  man, 
being  indulgently  returned  to  his  home,  demanded, 
this  time,  a  drink  of  water,  and  having  drunk,  once 
more  reclined,  as  though  beyond  all  mortal  concerns. 
At  the  same  time,  in  a  neighboring  house,  the  relatives, 
whom  the  m.ddle-aged  man  was  scandalizing  by  his 
obstreperous  behavior,  consulted  together.  Event- 
ually it  was  proposed  to  i:)rocure  the  consent  of 
the  middle-aged  man  to  the  seemly  progress  of  his 
own  funeral  by  tightly  winding  a  cord  around  his 
neck. 

"No,"  said  the  village  constable.  "It  would  an- 
noy the  government." 

"But  why?"  the  relatives  demanded,  like  children. 

"I  don't  know,"  the  constable  replied.  "Yet  I 
am  sure  that  the  government  would  be  annoyed  if 
you  prepare  the  man  for  burial  by  winding  a  cord 
around  his  neck." 

"Well,  then,"  said  the  relatives,  "what  are  we 
to  do?" 

"Wait  awhile,"  replied  the  cunning  constable, 
"and  see  what  happens." 

WTiat  chiefly  concerned  the  relatives  of  the  middle- 
aged  man  was  not  the  "shame"  to  which  the  middle- 
aged  man  was  i)utting  them  by  interTui)ting  his  own 
funeral.  It  was  this:  that  the  body  of  the  middle- 
aged  man  was  unduly  restraining  the  spirit  from  its 
Uight.     "He  wishes  to  go,"  they  said;    "wc  don't 

34S 


n 


■il  .1 1 ' 


^   ■ 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

want  to  hold  him  back — we  want  to  help  him  to 
go."  Next  day — all  this  from  a  report  of  the  magis- 
terial investigation — the  middle-aged  man's  spirit 
succeeded  in  loosing  the  bonds  of  the  flesh  and  es- 
caping to  its  place  of  desire. 


<  ;  I 


*  »■  I  ♦ 


f  I 


i(. 


XLIV 


CANNIBAL   COUNTRY 

BLOODTHIRSTY    as    these    natives   are,    and 
genuinely  incapable  of  comprehending  why  life 
should  not  be  taken,  a  discreet  white  man  is  safe  in 
the  land,  so  successful  has  the  native  policy  of  the 
administration  proved  in  practice— a  policy  of  the 
reasonable  and  patient  dealing  out  of  justice  rather 
than  of  wholesale  retaliation  in  the  form  of  punitive 
expeditions.     "It  would  probably  be  quite  safe  for 
a  white  man  to  travel  unarmed  from  the  Purari 
Delta  to  the  German  boundary,"  says  the  Adminis- 
trator—"far  safer  than  to  walk  at  night  through 
parts  of  some  of  the  cities  of  Euroix)  and  AustraHa." 
Not  long  ago,  however,  as  time  runs  in  new  places, 
it  was  as  much  as  a  man's  life  was  worth  to  land 
helpless   on   the  coast.    Traders  and   missionaries 
were  slaughtered  and  eaten.     The  ill  fame  of  New- 
Guinea  was  celebrated  and  well  won.     It  was  a  feat 
of  considerable  daring  to  jjcnetrate  the  forest-  even 
to  lie  carelessly  at  anchor  off  the  coast.     It  is  this 
New  Guinea— now  comparatively  a  land  of  peace  and 
a  measure  of  fertile  jjromise— that  remains  alive  in 
the  popular  imagination.     A  score  of  shocking  tales, 
cijrrent  in  Port  Moresby,  might  \)c  told  to  illustrate 
the  recent  precariousness  of  life  in  a  land  where  an 
17  347 


I 


111 


flt  ,!i 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

unarmed  man  may  now  walk  as  safe  as  in  some  slum 
quarters  of  an  Australian  city.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
the  first  traders  led  adventurous  lives— gave  and  took 
death,  always  in  a  highly  thrilling  fashion,  and  some- 
times in  a  way  almost  humorously  diverting  to  read 
about.  A  group  of  Chinamen,  bcchc-dc-mcr  fisher- 
men, for  example,  having  brought  themselves  into 
peril  of  massacre,  sought  to  impress  the  natives  with 
the  deadly  efficacy  of  their  firearms.  To  this  end 
they  set  up  a  sheet-iron  target  and  impressively 
peppered  away  at  it.  Unfortunately  they  missed 
it  every  time— at  a  distance  of  thirty  yards.  Per- 
ceiving this,  the  natives,  to  display  a  superior  skill, 
cast  spears  at  the  target,  and  scored  with  unfailing 
accuracy;  and  having  thus  proved  their  own  su- 
periority, upon  trial  of  the  weapons,  they  attacked 
the  Chinamen,  killed  every  man-jack  of  them,  and 
ate  them  every  one. 

Cannibalism  is,  of  course,  practised  in  New 
Guinea  to  this  day.  Some  of  the  remoter  tribes 
would  doubtless  be  amazed  to  learn  that  it  is  re- 
garded with  disfavor  in  any  quarter  of  the  wide 
world.  A  man  consumes  his  victim.  In  some  dis- 
tricts, however,  he  must  not  consume  his  own  vic- 
tim; he  may  distribute  his  own  victim— but  must 
himself  partake  of  the  victim  of  a  generously  in- 
clined friend.  The  administration  has  put  an  end 
to  the  thing  within  the  limited  sphere  of  its  influence 
—has  put  an  end  to  the  freedom  of  village  raiding, 
moreover,  and  has  pretty  thoroughly  discouraged 
the  murder  of  one  individual  by  another.  Cases 
of  cannibalism,  however,  still  come  before  the  court; 
and  they  are  dealt  with,  I  believe— it  is  said  to  be 
an  exceedingly  difiicult  matter  to  deal  with  them  at 

248 


'  I 


\  t 


CANNIBAL   COUNTRY 

all— vinder  that  section  of  the  criminal  code  which 
relates  to  body-snatching.    The  incidents  are  far 
too  revolting  for  description — the  boiling  and  broil- 
ing and  barter  of  the  victims.     The  time-worn  joke 
about  the  missionary  and  the  cannibal  king  is  really 
in  bad  taste:   the  business  is  no  laughing  matter — 
not  when  one  comes  close  to  it.     Some  of  the  Pa- 
puan tribes  are  not  cannibals;   some  protest  a  horri- 
fied loathing  of  the  practice;    and  some,  formerly 
accustomed,  have  now  abandoned  the  custom,  in 
response  to  the  teaching  of  the  missionaries,  or  in 
deference  to  the  attitude  of  the  administration.     It 
may  be  said,  in  a  general  way,  that  the  cannibal  is 
a  cannibal  because  he  has  a  taste  for  that  sort  of 
thing.     It  is  a  food  to  which  he  inclines.    Why 
wpsteit?  he  inquires.     It  may  be  that  he  consiunes 
some  small  part  of  a  departed  relative  because  he 
has  dearly  loved  that  relative  and  desires  openly  to 
demonstrate  his  duty  and  affection;  and  it  may  be 
that  he  partakes  of  a  ceremonial  feast  because  cus- 
tom indicates  that  to  partake  in  such  circtmistances 
is  a  matter  of  high  privilege  and  imperative  pro- 
priety.    The  opinion  is,  however,  that  cannibalism 
is  not,  generally  speaking,  a  ceremonial  affair,  but  a 
mere  consumption  of  a  certain  sort  of  food  with 
which  the  cannibal  wishes  to  sustain  life  and  tickle 
his  palate. 

"I  understand,"  a  resident  informed  us,  "that 
women  are  not  particularly  edible." 

We  suggested  that  this  was  a  singular  thing. 

"They  do  all  the  work,"  the  resident  explained, 
"and  are,  corscqueutly,  lean  and  tough." 

A  more  or  less  palatable  cla    >  of  New  Guinea 
cannibalism  describes  the  fate  <       J  less  than  three 

249 


y 


.  I 


i.  •    i  ' 


I  r 


,< .  t 


UM 


.1 1 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

hundred  and  twenty-six  wretched  Chinamen.     It 
has  been  reasonably  authenticated  by  a  cursory  in- 
vestigation of  one  of  the  Administrators  of  the  Ter- 
ritor>';   and  there  is  no  good  reason— it  jumps  pre- 
cisely with  the  habits  of  some  of  the  savage  natives— 
to  question  the  truth  of  it.     It  seems  that  the  three 
hundred  and  twenty-six  Chinamen,  having  been  cast 
away  in  the  Louisdale  Archipelago,  and  in  this  way 
marooned  on  a  small  island,  were  discovered  in  their 
helpless  state  by  the  natives  of  that  region.     One 
by  one,  as  occasion  lequired,  they  were  taken  off 
and  eaten,  until,  as  might  be  inferred,  the  natives 
were  surfeited.     Upon  this  the  remaining  Chinamen 
were  hawked  along  the  coast — exchanged,  as  might 
again  be  inferred,  for  more  palatable  food  and  for 
desirable  articles  of  every  description.     One,  how- 
ever, escaped;  and  this  survivor,  it  is  related  in  one 
of  the  Annual  Reports,  was  picked  up,  four  months 
after  the  wreck  of  his  vessel,  by  a  French  steamer, 
and  carried  to  Melbourne,  whence  he  made  his  way 
to  the  gold-fields  of  Victoria,  and  was  eventually 
arrested  upon  the  charge  of  selling  liquor  without  a 
license.     It  is  not  to  be  inferred  from  this  incident 
that  all  Papuans  are  cannibals— that  cannibalism 
flourishes  as  once  it  did.     As  a  matter  of  fact,  can- 
nibalism is  all  the  while  diminishing;    it  has  been 
put  down  in  the  settled  places,  driven  to  close  cover 
on  the  edge  of  civilization,  and  is  practised  in  the 
free,  ancient  fashion,  without  reproach— as  when  the 
three  hundred  and  twenty-five  Chinamen  were  dis- 
posed of— only  in  those  rather  extensive  regions  to 
which  the  white  influence  has  not  authoritatively 
extended.     One  does  not  cxi)ect  to  rub  elbows  with 
a  cannibal  in  the  little  capital  of  Port  Moresby. 

250 


:l         I 


:    I 


r'' 


CANNIBAL   COUNTRY 


One  may,  of  course;  but  the  cannibal  will  wear  no 
i^  mark  of  liis  degradation — flowers  in  his  hair,  rather, 

'  ''  and  armlets  of  gay  blossoms,  and  a  garland  around 

his  neck. 

To  the  infliction  of  pimishment  as  a  measure 
of  correction  the  childish  simplicity  of  the  New 
Guinea  native  is  something  of  a  barrier.  Natives 
have  been  known  to  accuse  themselves  of  murder 

I  I  and  ask  to  be  dealt  with  according  to  the  law.     "I 

I I  have  told  you  already,"  said  an  impatient  magis- 
'  trate  to  a  village  (native)  constable,  who  had  brought 

in  a  self-accused  murderer,  "that  there  must  be  an 
eye-witness  of  the  crime."  "I  told  him  so,"  the 
constable  replied;  "but  he  killed  the  man  and  ate 
him — and  he  says  so."  "Don't  care  ivhat  he  says," 
roared  the  magistrate;  "he  can't  get  justice  in  this 
j  h  court  before  he's  able  to  prove  it!"    An  experience 

^    •  of  a  magistrate  on  patrol  in  the  Gwoira  Range  pre- 

cisely illustrates  the  difficulty  which  the  perverse 
j   I  simplicity  of  the  native  attitude  of  mind  toward  rea- 

sonable information  opposes  to  the  administration 
of  the  law.  In  this  instance,  however,  the  law  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  matter:  it  is  a  mere  example 
of  native  incomprehension.  It  seems  that  the  na- 
tives of  the  Gwoira  Range  had  in  some  way  per- 
suaded themselves  that  they  could  swallow  the  white 
man's  bullets  and  thus  escape  dai.  .,  The  magis- 
trate inquired  if  this  were  so.  "It  is  perfectly 
true,"  replied  one  of  the  natives.  "I  can  do  it  my- 
self." Upon  this  the  magistrate  loaded  his  rifle 
and  explained  to  the  native  that  if  he  should  by  any 
unhappy  chance  be  unable  to  "cat"  the  bullet  it 
would  surely  kill  him.  "Now,  open  your  mouth," 
f  he  continued,  "and  I  will  shoot  the  bullet  down  your 

251 


m  n 


.|1 


y  if 


It:  h 


3 


(I 

i, 


11 


AUSTRALIAN   BYWAYS 

throat."    The  native  opened  his  ^o^^h-all  un- 
concerned.   To   demonstrate   the   effect   of  a  dis- 
chage    the   magistrate  shot  the  bullet  through  ^ 
log  and   triumphantly   indicated   the   devastation^ 
The  native  examined  the  aperture  of  entrance  and 
the  aperture  of  exit.     Undoubtedly  the  bullet  had 
gone  clean  through  the  log.     The  magistrate  once 
more  loaded  his  rifle.     "Now,  open  yo^r  mouth 
said  he,  ' '  and  swallow  the  bullet  if  you  dare.       And 
the  native  opened  his  mouth.     Naturally,  the  magis- 
trate, outraged  and  nonplussed  by  this  '-"lazing  per- 
versity, and  appalled  by  its  imphcations^  concludes 
hL  story  with  the  inquiry:    What  m  the  worid  is 
one  to  make  of  such  people-what  is  one  to  do  with 

^  Well  what  is  one  to  do  with  a  cannibal  ?    It  would 
not  be  fair  to  hang  him.     Upon  reflection,  as  a  mat 
ter  of  fact,  it  would  be  an  outrage.     He  is  obedient 
to  the  immemorial  custom -not  consciously  a  break- 
er of  any  comprehensible  law.    And  he  is  not  hanged. 
He  is  imprisoned  for  -.  spell.    And  what  is  one  to 
do  with  a  murderer  in  a  land  where  murder  is  very 
much  of  a  pastime  and  an  exercise?    A  native  who 
Sus  a  white  man  is  hanged  as  a  matter  of  course. 
There  is  nothing  else  to  do.     But  no  expedition  is 
despatched-it  is  a  remarkable  thmg,  come  to  think 
oHt-to  slaughter  the  half  of  his  tribe.     A  measure 
of  that  sort  is  held  by  the  present  beneficent  adminis- 
tration to  be  the  very  extremity  of  injustice  and  un- 
wisdom.    Native  murderers  of  natives  are  sent  to 
jail  for  terms  varying  from  twelve  months  to  seven 
years     The  fact  that  life  has  always  been  cheap  m 
New  Gninea-that  to  take  life  has  not  been  in  the 
native   catalogue  of   capital   crime,  and   that   the 

252 


CANNIBAL   COUNTRY 

mysteries  of  civilization  are  new  and  difficult — is 
mercifully  taken  into  account.  In  some  cases  a 
term  in  jail  is  a  severe  punishment.  In  others,  it 
seems,  it  is  a  form  of  relaxation.  A  few  years  in 
confinement,  perhaps,  is  no  great  hardship — except 
that  it  deprives  the  prisoner  of  the  company  of  his 
village;  and  it  may  be  said,  approximating  a  gen- 
eral truth,  that  the  prisoners  cherish  the  importance 
of  their  state — as  on  Rossel  Island,  for  example, 
where  the  Resident  Magistrate  does  not  find  it  nec- 
essary to  lock  up  his  prisoners  (incarcerated  for  minor 
offenses),  but  bids  them  remain  in  an  open  shed 
until  he  gives  them  word  to  go.  At  Daru,  a  native 
gave  himself  up  to  a  magit.trate  and  desired  to  be 
sent  to  jail  forthwith.  "What  have  you  done?" 
the  magistrate  inquired.  The  native  replied : ' '  Noth- 
ing." "Why,  then,"  said  the  magistrate,  "should 
I  send  you  to  jail?" 

"The  mosquitoes  are  so  bad!"  said  the  native. 


aS 


I  .! 


h.    i 


)*i-  }'.    f 


XLV 


h     i 


ii; 


1 1 


sorcerers'  work 

WE  learned  in  Port  Moresby  that  the  practice  of 
sorcery  is  proscribed  in  New  Guinea.     In  the 
lower  courts,  there,  which  are  regularly  constituted 
British  tribunals,  having  been  arraigned  upon  the 
charge  of  exercising   witchcraft,   sorcerers  are  fre- 
quently convicted,  upon  the  evidence  presented,  of 
?his  singular  breach  of  the  law.    "You  don't  hang 
these  men'"  the  native  victim  of  the  profession  com- 
nlains     And   he   expresses   this   natural   astonish- 
ment- "If  you  were  to  hang  all  the  sorcerers,  there 
would  be  no  sorcerers  left  to  trouble  either  you  or 
us     Why  don't  you  hang  them?    Are  you  afraid  ot 
them?"-an  awkward   question.     There  would   be 

more  sorcery  trials-many  '^'O^^,  ^°"J^^i!°"'',f'  ^^ 
matter  of  course-if  it  were  not  for  the  difficulty  of 
commanding  clear  evidence  of  guilt.  I  know  hat 
the  man  is  a  sorcerer,  and  that  he  magically  killed 
my  friend's  brother,  and  I  can  prove  it  too.  and  it 
I  testify  the  man  will  be  sent  to  jail,  the  astute 
native  mind  argues;  "but  if  the  man  is  conxncted 
and  sent  to  jail  upon  my  testimony,  what  devihsh 
spell  will  he  put  upon  me  when  he  gets  out?  -and 
discretion  issues  in  silence.  In  the  Delta  country, 
not  long  since,  there  was  a  sorcerer  of  reputation  so 
fearsome  -he  may  still  be  at  large  and  flounshmg- 
that  the  natives  of  the  villages  dared  not  speak  hi. 

a  54 


SORCERERS'   WORK 

name  above  a  whisper.  It  would  be  a  rash  adventure 
to  undertake  the  conviction  of  this  celebrated  Bai-i 
of  Vaimuru  upon  the  evidence  of  the  shivering 
wretches  within  his  sphere  of  magical  activity.  Con- 
victions are  sometimes  procured,  however,  of  less 
noted  sorcerers,  after  fair  trial,  in  an  informal  way; 
and  upon  occasion  the  testimony  is  of  a  sort  to  shock 
the  ears  even  of  a  magistrate  who  has  long  got  past 
being  stirred  by  the  usual  Papuan  surprises 

A  sorcerer  was  brought  to  trial  for  the  atrocious 
murder  of  a  native  of  one  of  the  inland  villages.  He 
would  neither  affirm  nor  deny  that  he  was  a  sorcerer. 
Indeed,  he  regarded  the  whole  proceeamg  with  super- 
cilious indifiercnce.  .,  T^  u  o?"  o  «a 
"Did  you  see  the  prisoner  stnke  Dabura?  a  na- 
tive witness  was  asked,  as  a  paraphrased  transcnpt 
of  the  recorded  testimony  may  run. 

"Dabura  was  struck  with  a  club.    The  pnsoner 

did  it." 

"Was  it  a  heaw  blow? 

"Dabura  was.        ^d."  .     j>m 

"How  do  you      low  that  Dabura  was  dead? 

"Dabura  fell.     The  prisoner  struck  him  ag       nnd 
again  on  the  head  with  a  club.     Dabura  coulu 
have  been  alive.     He  was  dead."     ^^ 

"Describe  the  effect  of  the  blows. 

' '  Thev  killed  Dabura.  Dabura's  head  was  broken 
open  Dabura  was  covered  with  blood.  The  ground 
where  he  lay  was  soaked  with  blood.  I  know  a  dead 
man  when  I  see  one.     Dabura  was  dead. 

"What  did  the  prisoner  do  then? 

"He  called  two  other  sorcerers.  The  three  ^  r- 
cerers  together  worked  charms  over  Dabura. 

"What  was  the  effect  of  these  charms? 

255 


t  ill 


.(,1 
,1       !        ! 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

"Dabura  came  to  life." 

"What!" 

"Dabura  came  to  life  and  stood  up.  I  know  that 
he  came  to  life  and  stood  up.     I  saw  him  stand  up." 

"With  his  skull  crushed?" 

"Oh  no!  Dabura's  skull  was  no  longer  crushed. 
It  was  perfectly  healed.  The  sorcere.  s  had  charmed 
it  quite  whole  again." 

"Was  Dabura  weak  from  loss  of  blood?" 

"Oh,  there  was  no  loss  of  blood!  There  wos  no 
blood  on  Dabura.  There  was  none  on  the  ground. 
The  sorcerers  had  charmed  all  the  blood  back  into 
Dabura's  head." 

"What  did  Dabura  do  then?" 

"Dabura  went  home  to  his  house.  He  walked 
all  the  way.     I  saw  him  do  it  myself." 

"Dabura  was  quite  well?" 

"Oh  yes!  Dabura  was  quite  well.  We  went  to 
a  dance  in  another  village  that  night." 

"Did  Dabura  dance?" 

"Dabura  danced  until  morning.  I  know  that  he 
did.  I  saw  him  do  it.  I  walked  home  with  him  in 
the  morning." 

"You  know  that  Dabura  is  not  alive  now?" 

"Dabura  died  again  next  day." 

Meantime,  says  the  magistrate  who  records  the 
case,  the  accused  sorcerer  was  vastly  bored  by  the 
disclosure  of  his  amazing  skill.  He  sat  "yawning 
listlessly."  It  is  maintained  that  this  testimony 
is  not  fairly  to  be  regarded  as  a  malicious  perjury, 
but,  rather,  as  a  preposterous  fabrication,  flowing 
innocently  from  the  lips  of  the  witness — a  tale  told 
as  children  tell  the  too  remarkable  tales  of  adventure 
in  their  own  world  of  imaginary  happenings. 

256 


^  ■  '1: 


XLVI 


THE   INVISIBLE    SNAKE 

TT  is  no  very  hard  matter  to  set  up  as  a  sorcerer 
1  in  Papua.     One  says,  "I  am  a  sorcerer!"— and 
the  thing  is  accompUshed.     One  may  be  a  greater 
sorcerer,  or  a  lesser  sorcerer,  to  be  sur.;  but  one  is 
a  sorcerer  of  some  degree  of  evil  merit,  at  east  from 
the  hour  that  one  says,  "I  am  a  sorcerer!      There- 
after the  measure  of  success  a  practitioner  may  win 
depends  upon  his  skill  in  advertising  and  the  in- 
genuity of  his  magical  methods.    What  is  new  and 
mysterious  is  everywhere  mightily  impressive;   and 
in  Papua,  as  elsewhere,  what  a  man  noisily  reiterates 
about  himself  comes  eventually  to  be  accepted  as 
at  least  an  approach  to  the  truth  concerning  him. 
A  certain  Tai-imi,  for  example,  having  settled  in  a 
village  of  the  Gira  River,  said.  "I  am  a  sorcerer! 
—and  he  was  forthwith  a  sorcerer.     He  said. ' '  I  have 
an  invisible  snake  with  which  to  work  my  will  — 
and  his  fame  began.    They  said,   "Where  » 5  the 
snake  ?"    And  he  replied :  ' '  Have  I  not  said  that  the 
snake  "is  invisible  ?    How  can  I  show  you  an  invisible 
snake?"— and  his  fame  grew.     He  said,  then,      1 
have  many  invisible  snakes"— and  his  fame  was  es- 
tablished.   And  he  added,  "'Beware  of  me,  if  you 
please,  for  I  am  very  easily  offended,  and  my  in^ 

2S7 


f 


I       ! 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

visible  snakes  obey  me."  Finding,  now,  that  he  was 
inspiring  terror  indeed,  Tai-imi  created  an  estab- 
lishment to  forward  his  consequence.  Three  menials 
were  taken  in  to  wait  upon  his  wants  at  home ;  and 
two  quaUfied  assistants  were  engaged  to  attend  his 
dignity  abroad.  To  the  qualified  assistants,  in  en- 
hancement of  his  own  importance,  Tai-imi  gave  in- 
visible snakes.  "They,  too,  are  sorcerers,"  said  he, 
"and  have  invisible  snakes."  And  added,  with  the 
large,  easy  air  of  every  great  professional:  "But  the 
invisible  snakes  of  my  assistants,  of  course,  are  small 
and  rather  stupid  snakes.  My  snake  is  the  snake 
to  beware  of."  Ingenious  Tai-imi  might  have  lived 
long  in  jilenty  had  he  not  grown  so  intolerably  extor- 
tionate in  the  matter  of  pigs  that  the  administration 
got  wind  of  his  ways  and  made  haste  to  confound 
his  success. 

It  was  shown  upon  trial  that  Tai-imi  had  founded 
his  enormously  lucrative  practice  upon  nothing  bet- 
ter than  a  bald  assertion. 

"I  am  a  sorcerer,"  said  he,  "with  an  invisible 
snake." 

A  man  who  can  terrorize  a  community  can  exact 
gifts  and  live  at  ease  all  the  days  of  his  life.  Tai- 
imi's  rise  to  prosperity  illustrates  the  simplicity  of 
the  method.  Vet  sorcery  is  not  a  pojjular  i)rofession. 
It  is  too  perilous  for  that.  The  Papuan  sorcerer 
practises  farZ-pHri— translated  as  "the  power  of 
making  dead."  Anil  this  brings  him  constantly 
under  suspicion  in  a  land  where  vengeance  is  a  vir- 
tuous pursuit  and  a  man's  life  is  safe  only  in  his  own 
watchful  keeping.  In  the  jihilosophy  of  the  ])rimi- 
tive  Papuan  native  there  is  no  such  thing  as  death 
from  natural  causes.     1  )eath  is  the  result  of  either 

25S 


THE    INVISIBLE    SNAKE 

violence  or  magic.     Let  a  man  be  clubbed  to  death, 
and  the  native  clearly  comprehends  the  cause  of  the 
lamentable  aflfair;  but  let  a  man  die  of  pneumonia— 
a  wicked  machination  is  at  the  bottom  of  that  death. 
Who  is  the  sorcerer?   And— w/icrc  is  the  sorcerer?   It 
is  the  dutiful  obUgation  of  the  bereaved  to  discover 
the  author  of  the  machination,  and  either  himself 
avenge  it  or  employ  a  sorcerer  of  superior  power  to 
perform  his  vengeance  for  him.     In  the  simple  prac- 
tice of  medicine,  moreover,  which  all  sorcerers  fol- 
low, as  a  matter  of   course,  a  sorcerer   runs  occa- 
sionally into  the  gravest  sort  of  danger.     It  is  easy 
for  the  native  mind  to  assume  that  if  the  sorcerer 
has  not  cured  his  patient  he  has  killed  him;    and  as 
vengeance  must  be  wreaked  upon  somebody-  well, 
the  sorcerer  is  probably  guilty,  and  comes  handy, 
anyhow.     Not  long  since,   in  an  inland  village,  a 
certain  mother-in-law  fell  ill.     A  ptni-piiri  man  was 
fetched  to  her  aid  from  a  neighboring  village.   Could 
the  imri-piiri  man  cure  the  mother-in-law?     Oh  yes, 
tlio  puri-puri  man  could  surely  cure  the  mother-in- 
law.     The  piiri-puri  man  must  have,  however,  as  a 
fee  for  the  cure,  a  dog  and  a  pig.     It  was  a  bargain. 
The  dog  and  the  pig  passed  into  the  possession  of 
the  sorcerer  and  he  set  confidently  to  work.     It  was 
tcslilicd.  in  the  course  of  the  trial  which  presently 
came  on.  that  the  sorcerer,  who  was  by  this  time  the 
doccasetl  in  the  case,  had  "made  a  few  passes"  over 
the  mother-in-law  and  returned  to  his  village. 

"Now.  my  good  woman,"  said  he,  upon  depart- 
ing, "you  will  get  well." 

This  was  not  so. 

"I  calkd  yim  to  attend  my  mother-in-law?"  tle- 
nuuided  the  son-in-law,  when  next  the  sorcerer  came. 

259 


'  'I 


,'     I 


,1, 


!l 


\ 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

It  was  admitted. 

"I  paid  you  a  dog  and  a  pig?" 

"You  did." 

"My  mother-in-law  is  dead." 

"Hum—"    It  is  easy  to  imagine  the  consternation 

of  the  sorcerer.  , 

"Very  well,  then,"  declared  the  son-m-law.  As 
I  paid  you  a  dog  and  a  pig  to  cure  my  mother-in- 
law,  and  as  you  did  not  cure  her,  I  am  going  to  kill 

^  Thereupon  the  son-in-law  went  off  with  two  friends 
in  search  of  weapons.  Witnesses  of  what  followed 
told  the  magistrate  before  whom  the  case  was  tried 
that  the  sorcerer  made  no  attempt  to  escape— that 
he  calmly  awaited  the  inevitab'  event.  Present  y 
the  avengers  returned.  The  son-in-law  grievously 
speared  the  sorcerer;  and  the  friends-lending  coun- 
tenance and  aid-despatched  him  with  their  stone 
clubs  Not  one  of  these  men— declares  the  magis- 
trate—could be  persuaded  that  they  had  done  any- 
thing out  of  the  way.  Had  the  sorcerer  not  been 
paid  a  dog  and  a  pig  for  his  medicine?  And  had 
not  his  cure  failed?  And  was  he  not  a  sorcerer, 
anyhow? 

A  reputation  for  skill  in  sorcery  is  not  to  be  culti- 
vated with  any  degree  of  equanimity  by  the  timid 
Many  a  man.  saddled,  against  his  will,  with  this  evil 
repute,  goes  to  frantic  lengths  of  denial.  A  case  or 
two  which  may  be  found  in  the  records  of  the  Papuan 
courts,  as  described  by  the  Administrator,  may  be 
cited  to  illustrate  the  peril  into  which  even  reputation 
may  bring  a  native.  A  woman.  Maudcga,  havm« 
visited  at  a  neighboring  village,  set  out  uiwn  her 

360 


THE   INVISIBLE   SNAKE 

return,  in  company  with  the  daughter  of  Boiamai, 
a  chief.    Unhappily,  the  child  of  Boiamai  was  taken 
by  a  crocodile;  and  upon  learning  this  Boiamai  killed 
Maudega  and  certain  others.     "Yes,  I  killed  Mau- 
dega,"  he  admitted  in  the  trial  of  the  case;    "but 
Maudega  was  a  witch,  you  know,  and  had  bewitched 
a   crocodile    to   take  my  daughter."     A    Papuan, 
charged  with  the  murder  of  an  old  woman,  excused 
the  crime  in  this  way:    that  he  had  seen  the  old 
woman,  who  was  unquestionably  a  witch,  fly  like 
a  pigeon  into  his  brother's  house,  where  his  brother 
lay  ill,  and  tear  open  his  brother's  breast  and  gnaw 
at  his  liver;  and  in  proof  of  the  justice  of  what  he 
had  done,  and  in  praise  of  his  own  presence  of  mind, 
no  doubt,  the  Papuan  maintained  that  as  soon  as  he 
had  killed  the  old  woman  his  brother  got  quite  well. 
Another  case  may  be  described :  that  of  a  native  who 
saw  two  men  of  rather  shady  reputation  put  magical 
leaves  in  his  father's  path,  in  such  a  way,  and  with 
such  wicked  ])ower  and  intention,  that,  when  the 
old  man  can     to  these  magical  obstacles,  he  fell— 
and  presently   died.     The  son   took  prompt  ven- 
geance: he  gathered  his  friends  and  killed  the  sup- 
posed sorcerers.     "The  elimination  of  the  belief  in 
sorcery,"  says  the  Administrator,  in  one  of  the  re- 
ports, "would  reduce  serious  crime  in  Papua  to  very 
small  proportions;    but  such  a  complete  reversal 
of  ideas  is  too  much  to  be  hoped  for  at  present,  and 
the  most  that  we  can  expect  even  the  most  civilized 
natives  to  realize  is  that  sickness  and  death  arc  not 
invariably  to  be  ascribed  to  that  cause." 


I  <  i 


XLVII 


i| 


A   SPIRITUALIST   OF   FERGUSON    ISLAND 

MAGIC  touches  the  life  of  the  New  Guinea  na- 
tive in  all  its  smallest  eoncems.     It  accounts 
for  the  incidents  of  every  day.     Whether  good  luck 
or  misfortune  befall,  magic  has  managed  the  affair. 
A  happy  event  is  achieved  by  means  of  a  sorcerer  s 
incantation:    a  confusion  of  evil  is  the  issue  of  a 
sorcerer's  wicked  .hcU-    The  menace  of  unfnendly 
sorcerers  implies  '.he  urgent  need  of  personal  and 
alertly  well-disposed  sorcerers.     "  I  am  a  more  power- 
ful sorcerer  than  the  sorcerer  of  your  enemy,    says 
the  wily  magician,  "and  if  you  employ  my  skill  your 
enemy's  spells  will  be  futile  to  annoy  you        In  the 
Gulf  country,  where  sorcery  is  what  is  called  ram- 
pant, every  family  or  group  in  a  village  fonning  a 
;.„./  has  its  own  sorcerer.     It  is  said  that  this  is  im- 
perative, so  dangerous  is  the  situation  of  the  Gulf 
ncople-   that  the  sorcerers  of  the  bush  people,  livmg 
inland  of  the  (^.ulf,  who  used  to  raid  the  coast   are 
most  cunning  sorcerers-that  they  take  the  fonn 
and  flight  of  pigeons  and  ravage  the  waterside  with 
magical  misfortune.     All  unusual   happetungs  and 
appearances  are  everywhere  attributed  to  the  sor- 
cerers     A  Resident  Magistrate,  visiting  some  of  the 
Vailala  River  people  for  t:.e  first  time,  to  establish 

262 


A   SPIRITUALIST 


.1 


friendly  relations,  was  accompanied  to  the  coast 
villages  by  the  head-man  of  one  of  the  tribes.  At 
lokea  the  head-man  fell  in  with  a  horse  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  and  found  the  spectacle  so  entertain- 
ing that  he  laughed  until  the  tears  came.  "You  arc 
a  mighty  sorcerer,  indeed,"  said  he,  gratefully,  to  the 
astonished  Resident  Magistrate,  "and  I  thank  you 
for  having  created  this  comical  animal  for  my 
amusement."  Every  mishap,  too,  is  of  a  pun-puri 
origin.  A  native  came  to  the  hospital  at  Saniarai 
with  a  two-months-old  dislocation  of  the  shoulder 
which  he  attributed  to  the  exercise  of  some  sorcerer 
in  an  enemy's  behalf.  That  the  malevolent  influence 
was  exerted  at  the  very  instant  when  he  had  chanced 
to  sHp  and  tumble  with  his  load  did  not  impress  him 
as  being  in  the  least  significant.  "A  sorcerer  did 
it,"  he  maintained.  The  dislocation  was  reduced 
under  chloroform— with  the  result  that  the  native's 
respect  for  the  practice  of  puri-puri  in  general  was 
considerably  increased. 

"This  puri-puri,''  said  he,  "is  obviously  a  more 
potent  puri-puri  than  the  other." 

It  is  a  feat  of  some  degree  of  skill,  to  be  sure,  but 
not  beyond  the  power  of  the  cleverest  sorcerers,  to 
establish  a  bereaved  relative  in  communication  with 
the  spirit  of  his  dead.  A  dreaded  sorcerer,  in  the 
hills  back  of  Begessi,  on  Ferguson  Island,  was  com- 
monly used  to  accomplish  this;  and  when  the  magis- 
trate of  that  district  visited  his  ghostly  dwelling  to 
inquire  into  the  matter  a  congregation  of  twenty 
natives— some  of  them  had  come  from  villages  fifteen 
miles  away— was  found  awaiting  a  connection  with 
the  other  worid,  as  it  were,  in  precisely  the  same 
fashion,  and  with  the  same  eager,  shuddering  hope, 
IS  -^«J 


.1 


■I     '     .     Si. 

■4''    \i 

''MM 


|!      ,       . 


H 


li 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

no  doubt,  as  a  congregation  of  seekers  at  a  spiritual- 
istic seance  in  our  own  times  and  cities.     Nor  did 
the  sorcerer  behave  in  an  unfamiliar  way:   he  de- 
campcd-a  sudden  pretense  that  he  must  himself 
be  at  a  distance  to  obtain  the  best  effect-and  his 
ill-gotten   gain   in   native   goods   was   confiscated. 
Establishing  communication  with  spirits,  of  course 
is  one  of  the  higher  manifestations  of  the  sorcerers 
magic.     Sorcery  does  not.  however,  disdain  to  in- 
dulge in  mere  impish  mischief-evoking  the  wrath 
of  the  wind:  a.  when  six  angry  old  women  wrecked 
in  a  squall  off  the  village  of  Borio,  demanded  of  the 
nearest  magistrate  the  arrest  and  impnsonment  of 
all  the  villagers  of  Borio,  who  had  conspired  with 
their  sorcerers  to  annoy  strangers  passing  in  peace, 
and  demanded,  moreover,  instant  compensation  for 
the  loss  of  their  canoe  and  cooking-pots,    borcery 
may  stoop  even  lower-to  small  revenges:   as  when 
a  native  village  constable  complained  to  the  magis- 
trate of  his  neighborhood  that  the  bush  pigs  had 
been  magically  inspired  to  break  into  his  garden  and 
cat  his  taro  in  revenge  upon  him  for  assistmg  the 
magistrate  to  convict  two  sorcerers  of  some  slight 
distinction.     The  latter  incident,  as  the  magistrate 
recounts  it.  fairly  iUustraU-s  the  native  s  attitude  ot 
annoyance  toward  the  ignorance  and  stupidity  ot 
all  those  white  men  who  do  not  believe  in  sorcery 
and  its  common  employment.  ^^ 

"You  recall  Andugai  and  Scrawabai,  saiU  uie 
constable  to  the  magistrate,  "the  sorcerers  whom  you 
let  out  of  jail  a  week  ago?"  . 

The  magistrate  easily  recalled  Andugai  and  bcra- 

"They  have  come  to  my  village."  the  constable 

364 


A   SPIRITUALIST 

complained,  "and  puri-puri  the  bush  pigs  to  eat 

my  taro."  . 

"How  do  you  know  that  Andugai  and  Serawabai 

puri'puri  the  bush  pigs?" 

"When  they  came  to  my  village,  they  said: 
'This  village  policeman  got  us  three  months  in  jail. 
We  must  be  revenged  upon  him.  Let  us  damage 
his  garden.  Let  us  puri-puri  the  bush  pigs  to  eat 
up  his  taro.'  And  they  have  done  this  very  thing." 
"Did  anybody  hear  them  say  that?" 
"Of  course  not!     Andugai  and  Serawabai  are 

not  fools!" 

"How  do  you  know  that  they  did  say  it?" 

"Was  I  not  the  cause  c*  their  imprisonment? 
What  more  reasonable  thing  could  they  say?" 

"You  have  no  witnesses?" 

"No." 

"How  long  is  it  since  you  repaired  your  fence?" 

"About  six  months." 

"Go  mend  your  fence." 

The  point  is  this:  that  when  the  constable  left 
the  magistrate,  in  great  ill  temper  with  this  judg- 
ment, the  magistrate  heard  him  remark  to  the  inter- 
preter, in  the  manner  of  one  hopelessly  disgusted, 
"Why,  that  fellow  doesn't  know  a  thing  about  the 
customs  of  the  country!" 

It  is  vain  to  argue.  "You  just  don't  know  what 
you're  talking  about,"  sighs  the  native,  wearied  of 
the  white  man's  skepticism:  "we  were  born  here,  and 
htow  about  sorcery — it-c  understand."  A  fixed  con- 
viction of  this  sort  was  displayed  by  the  Maisin 
people.  There  was  an  extraordinary  number  of 
deaths  in  the  Maisin  villages.     Greatly  perturbed 

36s 


l!»^ 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

by  this  mystery,  for  which  they  could  account  in 
only  one  way.  the  Maisin  natives  concluded  ^ that 
their  Kubiri  neighbors  were  at  the  bottom  of  the 
trouble.     "Look  here,  now,  you  have  been  making 
puri-puri  against  us,"  said  they  to  the  Kubiri  neigh- 
bors;  "and  if  you  don't  pay  for  the  Uvcs  your  sor- 
cerer's  have    taken— wc7/    puri-puri   you!"     There 
was  no  threat  of  violence;  it  was  merely  a  threat  of 
magic— and  the  Kubiri  people  paid  over  the  pigs  m 
terrified  haste.     Everywhere  the  sorcerers  are  objects 
of  detestation— of  fear  and  hatred.     A  native  who 
believes  himself  to  be  under  a  sorcerer's  spell  is  well- 
nigh  doomed.     "It  is  almost  impossible,"  says  one 
of  the  magistrates,  ' ' to  save  his  life."     Nor  are  cases 
of  death  infrequently  noted.     In  illustration  of  this 
curious  circumstance,  the  Administrator  ("Papua") 
tells  of  an  intelligent  native  of  Rossel  Island  who  was 
being  slowly  bewitched  to  death.     The  man  was  re- 
duced to  skin  and  bones;   he  could  neither  eat  nor 
sleep,  but  wandered  aimlessly  from  village  to  vil- 
lage, dying.     Assured  that  no  sorcerer  could  have 
power  aboard  an  official  ship,  the  wretched  native 
was  talcen  off  on  the  Mcrric  England,  and  presently 
recovered.     "If  he  had  not  come  along,  he  would 
have  died,"  remarks  the  Administrator,  "and,  moral- 
ly, the  sorcerer  would  have  been  guilty  of  his  death, 
though  through  the  medium  of  the  man's  own  imagi- 
nation."   A  wcU-infonneci    lative  may  protect  him- 
self from  these  wicked  channs,  however,  by  taking 
care  that  no  hair  of  his  head,  no  parings  of  his  fin- 
ger-nails, no  bctcl-nut  of  his— and  the  like  of  such 
things— shall  fall  into  a  sorcerer's  hands,  to  be  laid 
upon  a  sorcerer's  stone,  causing  illness  and  death. 
To  make  quite  sure  of  immunity,  he  must,  on  Rossel 

266 


*l    I 


1  • 


A   SPIRITUALIST 

Island,  for  example,  cany  away  the  scraps  of  his 
food  from  a  stranger's  table,  and  cast  them  into  the 

sea. 

A  sorcerer  might  get  them! 

"If  you  should  need  to  throw  the  husk  of  a  cocoa- 
nut  overboard  from  your  canoe,"  a  Rossel  Island 
native  explained,  "first  immerse  it." 

And  why? 

"It  might  float  ashore,  you  see;  a  sorcerer  might 
get  hold  of  it." 

Circumspection  so  watchful  and  complete  implies 
an  abject  fear.  And  the  fear  is  truly  abject.  A 
celebrated  sorcerer  of  the  Main  Range  was  charged 
by  his  community  with  the  death  of  nine  natives. 
It  seems  that  the  men  had  died  of  sheer  fright. 
The  sorcerer  used  no  charms:  he  willed  (said  he) 
the  death  of  his  victims.  "Burning  within  me,"  he 
confjsscd  to  the  magistrate,  "is  a  power  as  fierce  as 
fire. ' •  A  certain  Toulu— being  of  an  aspect  most  evil, 
and  blind  in  one  eye,  he  was  admirably  equipped  for 
the  practice  of  sorcery — carried  his  inspiration  of 
terror  into  the  very  jail  where  he  was  confined.  A 
dozen  fellow-prisoners  lived  flat  on  their  bellies  in 
this  dreadful  presence — crawling  and  squirming  like 
worms.  As  this  attitude  of  reverence  was  not  at 
all  suited  to  the  efficient  employment  of  crowbars 
in  road-work,  which  is  something  the  prisoners  were 
laboriously  attempting,  when  the  magistrate  came 
by,  it  was  sternly  forbidden;  but  when  the  magis- 
trate turned  in  his  track  to  look  back,  he  found  the 
jailer  bent  double  and  every  last  man  of  that  terrified 
prison  gang  flat  on  his  belly  again  the  while  he  pain- 
fully operated  with  his  crowbar.  It  is  upon  fear  of 
this  quality  that  extortion  easily  practises.     A  Tro- 

267 


i 

4\ 

■  \ 

,    ! 

1    , 

'■ 

fT      .rssam 


\X'A 


i/L 


r    ■ 


AUSTRALIAN   BYWAYS 

briand  sorcerer,  says  one  of  the  "^^gi^tr^tes  ;^^^^^^ 
nered  in  the  ear  of  a  doomed  native  that  an  enemy 
had  purchased  his  death.    "However,  he  is  a  mean 
man?  the  sorcerer  added,  "and  did  not  pay  me  so 
very  much  to  kiU  you."    Of  course  the  doomed 
native  promptly  paid  more  for  his  immumty  than 
the  Lemy  had  paid  for  his  death.     "This  man  has 
rewarded  me  largely  to  dispose  of  );o»  "  the  sorcerer 
informed  the  enemy,  "and  I  fear  that  I  can  accom- 
plish nothing  to  save  your  life.;'    And  the  startled 
enemy  said.  "Ah.  ha.  but  I  will  P^Y  "^o^ej      ^nd 
the  doomed  native  said  in  his  turn.     Aa.  ha.  but  I 
will  pay  even  more  than  that!"    And  how  long  the 
transaction  might  have  gone  on  nobody  knows;  for 
it  was  at  this  point  that  the  extortionate  sorcerer  was 
taken  into  custody  on  the  information  of  a  cunmng 
friend  of  both  his  victims. 


i  ft 


1i  I  ^ 


XLVIII 


INCANTATION 


I 


PRECISELY  how  the  extortionate  sorcerer  would 
have  procured  the  decease  of  either  of  his  dupes 
is  not  very  clear.  The  processes  of  sorcery  are  dark 
mysteries.  Poison  is  suspected  i^s  the  active  agent 
in  many  cases;  but  it  is  not  by  any  means  sure  that 
the  Papuan  native  has  a  sufficient  knowledge  of  any 
virulent  poison  with  which  to  assist  his  incantations. 
One  sorcerer,  standing  trial  for  his  life,  described  his 
method  as  follows:  that  he  had  put  some  bark  in  a 
bail-ban  (bamboo  pipe),  mixed  with  shreds  of  cocoa- 
nut,  and,  having  plugged  the  end,  he  dug  a  trench, 
buried  the  pipe,  made  a  fire  on  the  grave,  removed 
the  ban-ban,  hid  it  in  a  hole  in  a  tree,  took  it  out  at 
night,  and  poured  the  contents  down  his  victim's 
throat  while  he  slept.  It  is  not  a  convincing  tale. 
A  case  of  divination,  however,  was  noted  by  an  ob- 
server in  the  government  service  on  Rossel  Island. 
It  was  designed  to  disclose  the  name  of  a  murderer. 
The  sorcerer  collected  some  twenty-five  leaves  from 
the  bush,  worked  them  with  water,  rolled  them  into 
a  little  ball  with  the  soles  of  his  feet,  and  laid  the  ball 
in  the  sun  to  dry.  A  black  ant  was  then  taken  alive 
and  put  in  the  ball :  the  head  of  a  black  slug,  also — 
a  slug  which  the  natives  fear  for  its  ])ower  to  dis- 

269 


i! 


1  i 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

charee  a  fluid  (they  say)  which  causes  blindness 
All  boing  ready,  now,  the  sorcerer  took  the  magical 
ball  in  his  left  hand  and  required  the  People  to 
ga  her  and  question  him.     "Was  it  Kariba  Oia 
killed  Warari?"  they  asked.     "Was  it  Buna?    Was 
itObirami?    Are  you  sure  it  was  not  Kanba?    Are 
you  sure  it  was  not  Buna?"     In  the  mean  time  the 
sorcerer  worked  his  fingers  and  the  muscles  of  his 
anns;  and  by  and  by-the  arm  being  at  last  grown 
sf     and  painful  beyond  endurance-he  moaned  and 
slowly  opened  his  fingers.  ,       .         ,i    i 

The  unfortunate  whose  name  chanced  to  be  called 
at  that  moment  was  declared  to  be  the  guil^Y,"^^"; 

' '  1  low  do  you  know, ' '  the  observer  inquired,     that 
he  is  the  guilty  man?" 

"My  ami,"  the  sorcerer  replied,  "got  hot  and  like 

""  ?Ms  remarked  bv  this  observer  that  the  sorcerer 
seemed  to  believe  in  his  singular  power— that  he  was 
at  least  an  honest  man  and  no  grasping  charlatan. 
It  is  not  uncommon,  indeed,  to  come  upon  a  sorcerer 
who  appears  to  have  the  utmost  faith  in  his  mys- 
torics      One  celebrated  feat  of  the  sorcerers  is  the 
r.  ,ioration  of  the  dead  to  life.     It  is  not  maintained 
that  the  restoration  is  permanent- the  mattc-r  ot 
an  hour  or  two,  rather,  a  day  or  two  at  most;    as 
in  the  case  of  the  dead  Dabnra  who  came  to  lite 
in  response  to  the  incantations  of  the  yawning  sor- 
cerer and  danced  all  night.     "Why  should  you  doubt 
this  thing  >"  a  sorcerer  demanded,  in  retort.        lou, 
too  have  your  sorcerers.     With  my  own  eyes  I  saw 
one  of  your  great  sorcerers  kill  a  man  by  putting 
pitri-pnri  ichloroform]  to  his  face,  then  cut  hnn  open 
with  a  knife,  and  bring  him  to  life  again.     The  man 

270 


'  . 


;{• 


INCANTATION 

was  dead.    There  was  plenty  of  blood.     I  saw  it 
myself.     Why  should  we  not  be  able  to  do  the 
same '" '     Sometimes  a  sorcerer  will  have  the  temerity 
to  attempt  a  demonstration.     Temerity,  to  be  sure, 
it  is— a  curious  sincerity,  too.    And  this  smcenty 
never  fails  to  ir^.press  the  beholder.     In  one  case  a 
constable,  who  had  been  a  noted  sorcerer  m  his  day, 
undertook,  for  the  edification  of  a  magistrate,  to  re- 
store a  lizard  which  he  had  killed  with  a  stick.     '  I 
have  been   in   the   government   service."    said   he. 
doubtfully,  "and  it  may  be  that  my  power  his  de- 
parted "     And  so  it  turned  out:   no  chami  that  he 
had— and  he  was  fullv  half  an  hour  at  the  business 
—had  the  least  effect.     He  was  plainly  discouraged; 
and    moreover— it  is  related— he  was  genuinely  as- 
tonished to  find  that  his  spells  were  impotent.     It 
seemed  that  he  could  not  for  the  life  of  him  com- 
prehend this  glaring  failure  of  the  usual  charms. 
"Ah,  well,"  said  he,  "I  had  no  preparation;    and, 
anyhow,  I  have  been  out  of  practice  for  a  long  time. 
And  I  have  been  in  the  government  service,  too. 
That's  the  real  trouble."     A  story-  is  told  of  an  old 
witch  who  professed  this  power  very  noisily,  but, 
being  entreated  to  display  it,  flatly  declined;    nor 
could  she  be  moved  from  her  decision. 

"No,  no,  no!"  she  protested.  "I  couldn't  do  it 
to-day." 

"Why  not  to-day?" 
"I've  taken  a  bath." 

An  oversight  of  the  sorcerers  is  kept  by  the  native 
constables- some  two  hundred  and  fifty  raw  Pa- 
puans, anned  with  carbines,  uniformed  in  a  blue 
serge  jumper  and  sulu,  and  acting,  with  limiti-d  au- 
thority,   under    the    direction    of    the    magistrates. 

271 


'I 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

Minor  operations  arc  ignored:  selling  love  charms— 
the  like  of  that.     And  the  matter  of  rain-makmg  is 
of  no  consequence,  provided,  of  course,  that  wind 
and  rain  arc  not  provoked  in  malice  to  discomfit 
a  legitimate  undertaking.     Let  the  rain-maker  take 
his  sorcerer's  stone,  wrap  it  in  a  leaf,  put  it  m  t.v 
shallows  of  a  creek;    the  leaf  will  annoy  the  ,    .ne 
with  its  offensive  odor,  to  be  sure,  and  rair   vu 
come  of  it;   but  no  harm  is  worked,  except  th_  ag- 
gravation of  the  stone.     It  is  extortion  and  tyranny 
and   bloodshed    that   the   constables   must    report. 
Many  of  the  village  policemen,  however,  are  them- 
selves fast  in  the  grip  of  the  village  sorcerers;   and 
the  force  is  in  general  so  brielly  removed  from  the 
s-ivage    state    that    discipline   sometimes   yields   to 
superstition  in  the  test.     It  is  related  of  two  con- 
stables, returning  by  sea  from  an  errand  down  the 
coast,  that,  being  di-layed  at  P.Migani  by  a  tedious 
stonii,  they  arrested  the  local  rain-maker  ancl  put 
him  in  irons,  charging  him  .specifically  with  inter- 
fering with  the  cxpcchtious  transaction  of  the  king  s 
business.     Presently    they    released    him;     for    the 
storm  did  not  abate,  so  contumacious  was  the  rain- 
maker;   and  the  ofiicers  of  the  law  were  persuaded 
that  it  nt-v<r  would  abate,  as  the  rain-maker  i)lainly 
intimated,  until  the  rain-maker's  disposition  was  re- 
formed by  the  removal  of  his  irons  and  his  release 
from  custody.    "I  S(  t  him  free."  one  of  the  constables 
cxplaimd,  "lest  our  services  be  lost  to  the  govern- 
ment for  ever."     Another  ease  in  which  then*  was  a 
swift.  pardonabU-  reversion  to  savagery  is  described 
by  Mr.   f.  IL  P.  Murray,  the  Administrator  of  the 
Territor>',  in  his  book.  l\ipmi.     A  constable  of  one 
of  the  northern  villages,  with  a  sorcerer  in  custody. 

272 


^    i1 


Kl.-llil  M    MM'l-'lltMl. 


u 


I        I 


I    I 


INCANTATION 

was  proceeding  up  a  river,  bound  to  a  magistrate's 
station;  and  the  sorcerer  took  advantage  of  this 
last  opportunity  in  a  desperate  endeavor  to  intim- 
idate his  captor  and  thus  procure  his  own  escape. 
Having  furnished  himself  with  a  string  and  a 
number  of  small  sticks,  the  sorcerer  inquired  of  the 

constable: 

"You  remember  your  father?" 

"I  do." 
"I  killed  him." 

A  stick  was  cercmoniousl>   tied  to  the  sorcerer  s 
long  string— a  disquieting  performance. 
"You  remember  your  mother?" 
"I  do." 

"I  killed  her." 
A  silence  then— and  a  second  stick  was  attached 

to  the  long  string. 

"You  remember  your  brother?" 

"I  do."  .  ^     „. 

"I  killed  him  too.     You  remember  your  sister r 

"I  do." 

"Well,  I  kiUt  ■  her." 

When  the  sore  or  had  seventeen  significant  sticks 
attached  to  his  long  string  the  patience  of  the  con- 
stable broke.  With  the  help  of  his  crew  the  con- 
stable seized  '.le  sorcerer  and  held  his  head  under- 
water until  li-  was  drowned. 

It  is  the  Resident  Magistrate  who  must  deal  with 
all  the  ills  of  sorcery— the  restraint  and  cure  of  the 
bloody  superstition;  and  most  of  them  throw  up 
their  hands  in  despair,  with  the  remark  that  the 
thing  is  of  [K>stilential  effect  and  jiroiiortions.  Apart 
from  the  troubles  the  sorcerers  make  for  him,  the 

273 


I 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

life  of  til  n  New  Guinea  Reside  at  Magistrate— if  the 
descri'        i  is  accurate— has  enough  of  difTiculty  to 
make  'i .  unenviable.     ' ' Aside  from  a  working  knowl- 
edge of  the  law  as  applied  to  Papuan  affairs,'   said 
a  Resident  Magistrate  of  the  Northern  Division, 
once,  apparently  greatly  annoyed  with  the  circum- 
stances of  his  life,  "a  Resident  Magistrate  must  have 
a  knowledge  of  bookkeeping,  infantr>-  drill,  bone- 
setting  and  simple  surgery,  medicine,  road-makmg, 
surveying,   building,  boat-sailing,  and  the  Motuan 
langua-'c.     He  must  learn  the  attitude  of  the  vari- 
ous'" tribes  toward  the  government  and  toward  one 
another,  and  their  peculiarities;    ho  nuist  be  physi- 
cally capable  of  resisting  malaria  and  dysentery,  and 
of  keeping  pace  with  the  constabulary  in  long,  rou;4h 
marches,  also  of  maintaining  discipline  in  the  jails 
and  station,  as  well  as  among  two  or  three  hundred 
crude  savages  employed  as  carriers  or  as  labon-rs. 
He  must  also  be  prei)ared  to  spend  weeks  alone  willi 
th.«  natives,  to  spend  most  of  his  pay  in  living  ex- 
penses, at  the  end  of  a  few  years  to  have  his  health 
shattered  and  to  be  useless  for  any  other  occupation, 
and  to  be  the  recipient  of  a  constant  stream  of  abuse 
both  locally  and  in  the  public  press,  with  the  pros- 
pect that,  tmless  he  is  lucky  enough  to  get  killed  or 
die  before  he  is  incapal)le  of  any  longer  d<.ing  his 
work,  he  can  starve  in  Australia  or  in  New  Cinnea  at 
the  end."     It  is  not  a  happy  life,  perhaps- the  life 
of   the   New  C.uinca   Resident    Magistrate.     Yet    I 
fancy  that  not  all  of  them  would  care  very  much  to 
return  from  this  land  of  sorcery  and  jungle  and  sav- 
age nativi'  life  to  the  com])aratively  dull  paths  of 
Sydney  and  Mi-lbourne  and  the  Australian  outlands. 
In  New  (iuinea,  they  say,  life  has  not  yet  been  di- 

374 


INCANTATION 

vested  of  queer  contaets  with  its  primitive  mysteries; 
Td  this  cinfusion  of  magic  and  aneient  eustom  w.th 
the  modem  facts  of  law  and  the  promise  of  pros- 
perity is  pleasant  enough  in  some  of  its  phases- a 
me^urc  of  reward,  at  any  rate,  to  the  adventurous 
soul. 


'!i  ,! ;    f 


XLIX 


I  I 


THURSDAY    ISLAND 

AFTER    Port    Moresby,     the    Singapore -bound 
L  packet  recrosses  the  Coral  Sea  to  Torres  Strait 
pausing,  there,  at  Thursday  Island.     A  P^f  ^f  <? 
Torres  Strait  and   its  vast   approaches,  which  he 
strewn   from  coast   to  coast  with   cora    reefs  and 
patches  and  sand-bars  and  nigger-heads,   between 
the  Australian  Cape  York  and  the  New  Guinea  can- 
nibal shore,  is  a  stirring  incident  of  the  road  from 
Sydney  to  Singapore.     "Caught  here  in  foul  weak- 
er '•  a'parody  of  the  sailing  directions  runs      anchor 
■ind  prav'"     It  is  a  wide  stretch,  one  hundred  miles 
'at  least,  between  Cape  York  and  New  Guinea;   and 
there  should  be  ample  room  for  haste  and  free  sail- 
ing-   yet  no  more  than  two  narrow  and  tortuous 
nuths  are  certainly  known  to  lead  through  the  coral 
-courses  like  faint  forest  trails;  so  that  these  shal- 
1„VNS  wear  the  reputation  of  being  the  worst  water 
in  the  world.     Navigation  here  intently,  nervously 
concerns  itself  with  the  color  of  the  water-the  brown 
over  the  bars,  the  beryl  over  the  reefs,  the  blue  of 
the  deep  passages;   nor  only  with  the  color  of  the 
^vater— with  the  odors  abroad  in  a  thick  night.       i 
can  smell  the  coral  in  the  dark,"  the  captain  of  a 
packet  boasted;  declaring  a  more  credible  pcrform- 

276 


'1.  ' 


THURSDAY    ISLAND 

ancc.  indced-prcpostcrous  as  it  may  appear-than 
the  transatlantic  skippers  who  say.  '  I  can  smell  the 
ice  "     The  packet  approaches  the  long  event  with 
alert  caution,  as  though,  however  careless  her  be- 
havior may  have  been  in  the  Coral  Sea    she  must 
now,  at  last,  giving  over  frivolity  and  the  habit  of 
somnolence  for  a  day  and  a  night,  attend  stnctly  .o 
business.     She  slows  down,  forges  ahead,  swerves  in 
a  sharp  arc,  comes  to  half-speed,  stops  dead,  steams 
confidently  forward,  pauses  in  suspicion  for  sound- 
ings,  and  repeats  all  this  bewildered  behavior  as 
though  she  had  never  passed  that  way  before,  and 
would  take  ioUv  gf^od  care  never  to  tumble  into  such 
a  mess  again— all  the  while  peering  out  and  feeling 
for  a  course.    And  by  and  by,  having  picked  the  way 
to  Prince  of  Wales  Channel,  she  ties  up  at  the  vv-liarf 
at  Thursday  Island  and  is  half-way  through  from 

''' An'a'miile.  rosv  woman,  the  landlady,  her  face  in 
a  pucker  of  anxiety,  bustled  out  of  the  chief  public- 
house  to  meet  our  arrival  from  the  packet. 
•"As  the  beer  come?"  she  panted. 
It  was  a  swift  exposition  of  the  drear>'  pleasures 
of   Thursday    Island-and    of    the    infinitely    more 
dreary  lack  of  them.     And  here,  too.  was  a  dreary 
hotel'    A  veranda  overlooked    the   painted   h;u-bor 
water,  wh(-re  some  little  luggers  of  the  pearling  fkrt 
lav  at  anchor,  with  the  rolling,  jungle  shores  of  the 
islands  half  vanished  in  a  mist  of  heat  beyond-  a 
prospect  streaked  and  splashed  with  bcr>-l  and  cream 
and  blue  and  violet  and  brown.     The  town  lay  up 
from  the  waterside,  wilting  in  the  sun:    a  brom 
street,  with  a  scorched  boulevard  of  grassy  sand  and 
a  row  of  dead  voung  trees;    dusty  ^ho]^^  l;ept  by 

277 


r  [ 


qi  •!  i    I 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

tors;  iron  bhantics,  ci  ,         Ch mamen,  Fill- 

population  ^y^^^:^,  Fiiians.  Mah^s. 

pinos.  ^-l°"r,/opeanr Aust^^^^^  Life  was  a  ist- 

Abonginals,  Europeans  ^^  ^^^  ^^^^^.. 

less,  sordid  P^^'-^^^^.^^^.^^^^^Yn  our  neighborhood,  at 
ly.     What  humor  there  .vas  in  our       g  ^^^^_ 

a'ny  rate,  eame  only  from  t^-^^'^  X-house  bath, 
lady  and  a  --^^'^^'^''^^^^f'lrZ^.rncnU  pretty 
The  bath  was  ^^ /"|^^^^\hTL  iLlated  tropieal 
generally  ^y^:;;^^^  a  rope  and  tackle. 

rinrt^^-^--i^t^::.rg 

deluge  of  tepid  rain-water. 

Thursday  Island  is  a  V^^:^j:Zr  'Z 
senuenee.  ^^t  Sll^Sic^^i^^^f teen  hundred 
turtle,  aeeoun   for  the  r^^^^^  .^^  ^^^^  ^^^.^^, 

inhabitants  blac.>dlo.^^^^^^^^^^^        a  port  of  eall  so 
broihng  exile.     It  in  n«^^  obscure  quarters  of 

familiar  and  triendly  m    ^^^y^^^^^^.te  nickname, 
the  world  that  1    weas  an  a^^^^^      ^^^^^  ^ 
Gibraltar  is      C'lb      to  the  .  ,,  ^^  ^^^^  j.^^^^ 

ranean;  Thursday  I^^^^"^  /^  ^  ^s  A  '  the  rovinj- 
Indies  and  the  nearer  ^J^^-,,,,,^^ut  in  foi 
craft-the  traders  and  -h'-U  pr    i^     ^^^^.^.^turer  anc 

pleasure  and  ^^J^^^)^^ '  ,i;7Northern  Territory  anc 
abandoned  ^reteh  of  '^^^J^^^  ^^^.,  ,•„,  the  scene  o 
New  Gmnea  makes  it  a  ^cir  i  prospect,  i 

hi.  occasional  desperate  ^^^  ^^^"^^  J,^^  ,own.  lik 
appears  to  be  a  swarming,  ^^M< 


»'       I 


THURSDAY    ISLAND 

the  wicked  old  Port  ^f.^'^:"^tZ'^o^"^^ 
„er-so  ^r*'"8  ''"^ii'^XleTyMtlc  place,  with 
Queensland  l^*'-'^/*"^"  i";  „  hicl  ly  rcs|>cct- 
mthing  more  'eprehensAle  than  a  W^ly       I    .^^ 

%rZ:£^rl  «a:c%;rnese,  Chinese, 
"s:^;;ri^nLrs  and  Australian  Abon^ 

ty  Mlow  the  -'"JX^IX  rained,  the  eroeo- 
Taking  the  truth  of  the  taKs  "  *■  .  f  „„  ,i,c 
diles.  which  infest  *"«- ,;"/,i'^J^™  ,.i,i,ors  in 
north  Australian  coast,  arc  the  l.vc 

town.     Upon  rare  °?™^'"^  *?j""  ^i„^  from  the 
ture  boldly  and  w,th  ""^.^Pf  jf^  "^  tl""?  I"="8 

;:r;°a*d\r;:atr^-d;'hi-;musuaiw 

Sr«  and  ™P"^able  the  re«nrenc  -^ 
shudderinB  busmess  for  f  y  'I^f^/^to  tn,vcrsc 
crocodile  yams  """'"S  "  J^'^^;;';  .,„  ,„humd 
the  raided  t---"^'<"7/"  .f'^./'f;,,  ^  a  monstrous 
•'^'  "diSCt  on  b  forelhascd  a  l.ttle  girl  up 
r;tl  andtnto  fhe  shelter  of  a  pubhe-housc, 
fc^Xg  close  upon  .■;,-  'ernfied  hee  s. 

A   rVimiman  was  said  to  have  vanisntu  uu 
edge  of  to^-n    within  sight  of  the  hotel  veranda 
hflast  they  heard  of  the  poor  wretch  wa.  a  shr,l 

JiSTr^Xt hi  oSntmtr  gtL.  the 

^^'^'^Ta^ds'^^rthrL^rrS^^ra." 
one  of  the  islands,     sai  l  tne  ^^^^     ^^^ 

touching  a  match  to  his  pipt. 

badly  mauled.     And  the— 

Puff! 


10 


279 


-!(   .i 


,1  Z  >: 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

"—man  hauled  him  up  on  the  beach  and  came 

over  to  T.  I.  for  help.     And  the—" 

Puff,  puff!  ,  .  u    y       \^A 

"—mate  wasn't  there  when  he  got  back.    And 

*f 
wc — 

Puff! 

"—reckon  it  was — " 

Puff,  puff,  P^\^ 

" — 'nother  croc."  u    i  • 

It  is  told  of  a  surveyor  thr.t  he  measured  a  basking 
crocodile  bv  means  of  his  instrumcnts-takmg  sights 
and  angles  from  a  reasonably  short  distancc-and 
that  he  worked  out  the  length  of  the  crocodile  to  be 
thirtv-five  feet!     This  remarkable  result  is  ascnbc^d 
to  an  error  in  the  surveyor's  calculations  due  to  a 
pardonable  trepidation.     Crocodiles  of  twenty  feet, 
however-^ven  of  twenty-eight  feet,  it  is  asserted- 
have  been  shot.     Sly,  powerful  beasts  they  are,  in- 
deed    A  horse,  taken  bv  the  shoulder,  dragged  a 
crocodile  for  forty  yards  before  he  could  release  him- 
self-   and  a  full-grown  buffalo,  taken  by  the  head 
while  drinking,  was  carried  off  bodily  and  droxv-ncd. 
The  story  is  told  of  a  trooper,  bathing  m  one  of  the 
rivers,  who,  tiring  a  little,  swam  for  rest  toward  what 
seemed  surely  to  be  a  floating  log;    the  log  turned 
out  to  be  a  crocodile,  and  the  crocodile  took  the 
trooper  by  the  head,  within  sight  of  his  comrades, 
and  carried  liim  off.     It  is  said  of  the  aborigines  .hat, 
being  taken,  they  thrust  their  fingers  in  the  croco- 
dile's eyes  and  sometimes  save  themselves  in  this 
way  and  an  incredible  tale  of  escape  is  in  common 
circulation-that  an  aborigine,  carried  away  by  the 
feet  and  deposited  at  the  bottom  of  a  pool  m  the 
river  for  future  consumption,  played  possum  all  tne 

280 


:^\r 


THURSDAY    ISLAND 

while  and  swam  to  shore  when  his  captor  left  him. 
It  will  appear,  thus,  that  the  crocodile  is  to  be 
reckoned  with— that  he  is  no  bogie  of  the  rivers  and 
beaches,  but  a  live,  horrible  peril.  The  abongmcs 
are  well  aware  of  the  degree  of  this  peril  and  cautious 
in  the  presence  of  it;  and  as  for  the  Europeans,  no 
seasoned  white  man  of  sound  mind  would  put  nim- 
sclf  in  the  way  of  giving  a  crocodile  the  advantage 
of  him  When  a  considerable  number  of  aborigines 
cross  a  crocodile-infested  stream  they  beat  the  water 
with  sticks  and  chant  a  great  commotion— taVing 
the  precaution,  of  course,  to  send  their  women  first. 


V 


TIGER-SHARK 


A 


]    I 


DIVING  for  shell,  and  incidentally  for  the  litt 
treasure  of  pearl-it  has  been  estimated  th; 
one  shell  in  a  thousand  contains  a  pearl-is  earn, 
on  in  deeper  water  off  Thursday  Island  than  an 
where  else.     Other  productive  beds  he  comparativ 
Iv  shallov  -the  Persian  Gulf,  the  Sulu  Seas,  the  Gi 
of  Manaar.     The  greatest  depth  at  which  a  diver 
helmet  and  dress  can  perform  any  sort   of  usei 
labor  is  held  to  be  one  hundred  and  eighty-two  fe^ 
At  that  depth  a  Spanish  diver  raised  £9-000  in  sm 
bars  from  a  wreck  off  Finisterre      At  one  hundr 
and  fifty  feet  an  English  diver  salved  £50,000  fn 
a  wreck  off  Leuconna  Reef  of  the  Chmese^  coa 
The  maximum  depth  to  which  the  sponge-fisncrs 
the  Mediterranean  successfully  descend  is  one  hi 
dred  and  fifty  feet.     In  the  Torres  Strait,  with 
depletion  of  the  beds,  the  divers  have  moved  fr 
the  shallow  water  of  from  four  to  six  fathoms 
depths  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  feet,  where 
operation  is  a  distressful  and  perilous  one.     A 
ternal  law  prohibits  diving  beyond  a  fpecihed  de 
of  safety;   but  as  the  courts  have  held  that  a  di 
must  be  actually  seen  at  that  depth,  if  anybod; 
to  be  held  amenable,  and  as  the  reefs  are  ren 


2S2 


.''«^Li^.;«i«ar-':'^■-»!l.-  '^ 


the  little 
ted  that 
s  carried 
dan  any- 
parativc- 

the  Gulf 
I  diver  in 
of  useful 
-two  feet. 
D  in  silver 
I  hundred 
,000  from 
2SC  coast, 
-fishers  of 

one  hun- 
,  with  the 
)ved  from 
ithoms  to 
where  the 
le.  A  pa- 
fied  depth 
at  a  diver 
mybody  is 
ire  remote 


TIGER-SHARK 

from  any  practical  scheme  of  supervision,  it  is  a  law 
of  small  consequence,  after  all,  and  the  perilously 
deep  diving  goes  on,  no  doubt,  much  as  before,  with 
its  occasional  issue  of  sudden  death.  Subjected  to  a 
hazardous  degree  of  atmospheric  pressure — at  one 
hundred  feet  it  is  sixty  pounds  to  the  square  inch — 
the  divers  are  attacked  by  various  characteristic 
disturbances:  pains  in  the  muscles  and  joints,  for 
example  ("the  bends"),  and  deafness,  spells  of  faint- 
ing, and  paralysis,  otherwise  known  as  "diver's 
palsy."  The  effects  appear  when  the  diver  ascends 
too  rapidly  from  deep  water  and  the  pressure  is  re- 
moved. It  is  then  that  the  cases  of  sudden  death 
occur — the  diver  found  dead  in  his  helmet  or  expir- 
ing on  the  deck  when  the  helmet  is  removed. 

At  Thursday  Island  the  luggers — smart,  sea- 
worthy little  fellows  of  eighteen  or  twenty  tons, 
bright  with  paint — are  manned  and  outfitted.  They 
are  small  for  the  big  task  of  weathering  the  winds 
that  blow  over  the  reefs  and  shallows  of  that  perilous 
water.  It  is  sharp  seamanship  and  a  dependable 
weather-lore,  for  which  the  Japanese  skippers  are 
celebrated,  that  accomplish  an  escape  from  the  sud- 
den, sweeping  gales:  such  a  gale,  fcr  example,  as 
cleared  the  west-coast  grounds  of  the  fleet — a  wind 
that  picked  some  luggers  out  of  the  water  and  drop- 
ped them  in  the  mangroves  a  hundred  yards  from 
the  beach.  In  the  Gulf  of  Manaar,  the  Ceylon  beds, 
the  divers  go  naked  after  the  shell,  for  the  most  part — 
a  plunge  with  a  cord  and  sink-stone,  and  with  a  spike 
of  irouwood  to  ward  oH  the  sharks  while  the  baskets 
are  being  filled ;  and  they  continue  diving  thus  time 
after  time,  remaining  below  for  from  fifty  to  eighty 

283 


11  i!  t 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

seconds  until  exhausted.    It  is  recorded  that  divers 

The  oiif  of  Manaar  have  b-n  ^--JX'Ts 
tinderwater  for  six  minutes;   but  at  Thursday  is 
bnd  where  the  bc\-hc-dc-mcr  men  dive  naked,  this  is 
S  Jd  a  for  a  preposterous  tale.    The  longest  time 
Tman  can  remain  underwater  (they  say)  is  two 
mima^'s-not  much  more,  at  any  rate;  and  should 
hrcontinue  these  interv^als.  at  -/-^t  deP^^-Jj^ 
will  presently  bkn^d  at  the  nose  and  mouth  and  will 
Eventually  collapse  on  the  deck  of  his  lugger  Jts 
maintained,  moreover,  that  the  coastal  abongines  are 
^e  ereates    of  all  swimmers-that.  being  well  oiled 
for  fhe  occlsSn,  they  can  go  as  deep  and  swim  as 
one  as  any  man.     A   blackboy,  fishing  Mchc-de- 
^^  wU  search  the  bottom  for  these  sea-slugs  in 
T:  course  of  one  dive,  and  gather  a  1;-P.  ^^J-^^^f 
it  in  a  convenient  spot;    and  he  will  fill  1"^^""^' 
•hen  he  has  collected  their  full  burden,  and  at  last 
wriggle  swiftly  to  his  dinghy,  cmerg mg  with  a  load 
Ihaf  might  tax  the  strength  and  incommode  the 
nrot'rcss  of  a  man  on  a  highroad  ashore, 
'in  these  days  there  is  very  little  naked  divmg 
after   heU  out'J.f  Thursday  Island.     The  dwers  are 
cHd  in  helmet  and  dress;    and  there  is  difficulty 
enough   even  so.    The  depth  is  great    the  ground 
may  be  treachcrous-a  diver  may  fall  rom  a  heij^n 
7vl  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea-and  the  sharks  are 
numerous  and  big  and  voracious.  ^^r,:„„ 

One  midday  a  score  of  little  luggers  came  dnftmg 
into  the  harbor  at  Thursday  Island  with  a  hght  wind. 
"Dead  Jap."  opined  ^he  customs  official 
• '  No  black  flag.;;  the  barber  objected.       Where  s 
your  half-master?"  ^^ 

"Boy  bitten  by  a  shark,  then. 

2S4 


H.\(1.1M.    A    I'l  AKI  -MIVl  K    AIIOAKK 


fl 


i    • 


f       ' 


TIGER-SHARK 

"Oh,  roiled  water!"  ^ 

"Quite  an  immunity  from  death  of  late,    the  cus- 
toms official  casually  observed. 

"Only  five  in  six  months."  ^^ 

"A  Tap  and  a  Malay  and  three  Papuans. 
"Seventy-nine,"    said    the   barber,    "in    the   six 
months  previous." 

As  a  matter  of  statistical  fact,  ten  per  cent,  of  the 
Torres  Strait  divers  die  everv'  year  from  the  im- 
mediate effects  of  their  vocation.  It  is  a  short  life 
(they  say)  and  a  bitter  one,  fit  only  for  the  yellow 
and  brown  men.  the  Japanese  and  Papuans  and 
Manila  men  and  Island  boys -the  Japanese,  es- 
pecially, who  are  tough  fellows,  sullenly  reckless  of 
their  days,  and  thinking  of  life  only  in  terms  ot 
hard  labor  and  brief  intervals  of  violent  pleasure. 

Torres  Strait  swarms  with  tiger-sharks;    and  as 
th.  tiger-shark  grows  to  a  length  of  twenty  feet  in 
these  latitudes,  and  is  a  particularly  voracious  and 
pugnacious  customer.  an>'%vhere  encountered,  he  is 
an  enemy  to  beware  of.    A  brownish-yellow  bulk, 
ornamented  with  transverse  bands  or  rounded  spots, 
furnished  with  a  gigantic  blade-like  tail,  and  having 
a  length  of  twenty  feet:  measured  off  on  the  carpet 
of  a  man's  quiet  home-and.  regarded  with  the  vyc 
of  the  imagination,  given  hungry  speed  in  the  dusky 
^.j,ter-it  is  enough  to  make  a  man  shudder  in  his 
library  chair!     It  was  not  roiled  water  that  had 
brought  the  score  of  luggers  into  harbor  at  1  hursday 
Island  while  we  sat  watching  with  the  barber  and 
the  customs  official.     It  was,  as  the  customs  official 
had  suggested,  a  Jap  boy  bitten  by  a  shark;   and  as 
the  po»)r  fellow  was  carried  to  the  hospital,  we  uen 

285 


i 


<Si.if  i 


i.'ii  • 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

informed,  with  a  torn  shoulder  and  a  seared  face, 
he  protested  that  he  would  never  go  down  again- 
that  diving  was  "fimsh"  for  him.     Many  another 
Torres  Strait  diver  has  come  to  the  same  conclu- 
sion after  a  precisely  similar  experience.    A  divers 
"nerve"  breaks;  he  has  no  heart  for  the  nsk  agam— 
alwavs  an  imminent  risk.     Divers  have  been  knowii 
to  vanish-to  take  the  plunge  and  be  earned  off  with- 
out a  bubble  or  a  ripple  to  indicate  the  moment  of 
this  horrible  death.     The  man  in  helmet  and  dress  is 
in  danger  if  he  is  not  alert.    He  has  a  weapon  at  hand 
however;   wh(>n  attacked  he  signals  for  more  air  and 
frightens  his  cowardly  enemy  away  with  a  volley  of 
bubbles      Yet  he  may  be  taken  in  a  momentary' 
lapse  of  caution.     I  recall  the  case  of  a  diver  whose 
life-line  suddenly,  mysteriousl     parted;    his  mates 
dived  to  his  rescue  at  once,  but  no  trace  ot  the  man 
was  ever  found,  and  there  was  but  one  reasonable 
way  in  which  to  account  for  his  disappearance— a 
shark  had  undoubtedly  taken  him. 

It  is  said  that  the  coastal  aborigine  is  not  greatly 
afraid  of  a  shark -that  he  is  a  match  for  a  shark  in- 
deed in  fair  water,  when  not  taken  unaware.     He 
mav  lose  a  leg  or  an  arm.  or  he  may  be  earned  off 
bodily    but  in  any  event  the  damage  will  be  due 
rather 'to  the  cunning  approach  of  the  shark  than  to 
the  limitations  of  the  diver.     Fairiy  warned,  he  will 
dive  to  the  bottom,  roil  the  water,  and  thus  elude 
the  attack;  and  if  he  is  pugnaciously  disposed  at  the 
moment  (thev  say)-if  the  shark  impolitely  mter- 
rupts  him  at  a  critical  or  deeply  interested  moment 
-he  will  give  fight.     It  is  true,  of  course,  that  the 
naked  divers  are  accustomed  to  escape  by  roiling 
the  water:  such  instances  arc  common;  but  I  have 

286 


TIGER-SHARK 

no  stomach  for  the  tale  that  any  man  will  go  out  of 
his  way  to  challenge  combat  with  a  twenty-foot 
tiger-shark— even  when  angered  by  an  untimely  m- 
terruption.     I  recall  two  stories  of  narrow  escape. 
The  one  concerns  a  voung  Japanese  diver  who  was 
taking  a  crayfish  to  the  surface,  and  all  at  once  found 
himself  in  a  furious  engagement.     It  was  incautious 
of  the  diver  to  have  a  crayfish  in  his  possession:  the 
sharks  are  inordinately  fond  of  crayfish;    and  this 
indiscreet  diver  came  out  of  the  consequent  encoun- 
ter with  a  lacerated  thigh   and  one  arm  missing. 
The  other  story  is  hardly  credible,  related  far  from 
the  scene:   I  cannot  vouch  for  it,  at  any  rate,  having 
had  no  means  of  authenticating  it;  but  as  I  have  not 
hesitated  to  swallow  it  whole,  and  have  been  pleas- 
antly moved  to  shudder  and  thrill  and  exclaim  aghast, 
I  will  tell  it  for  what  it  is  worth.     It  seems  that  a 
black  bt'che-dc-mcr  boy,  swimming,  naked  and  ab- 
stracted, close  to  the  reef  in  search  of  slugs,  awoke 
all  at  once  to  an  amazing  situation.     It  was  not  that 
the  shark  was  near— not  that  it  had  turned  and  was 
darting;  but  that  his  head  -a'a.s-  actually  in  the  shark's 
wiJc-o pat  mouth.     The  black  boy  acted  sharply :  he 
withdrew  his  head  in  a  flash,  having  at  the  same 
time  "punched  "  the  shark  (as  they  put  it)  to  distract 
attention  from  the  matter  in  hand:   and  he  rescued 
himself  after  a  brisk  tussle,  and  lived  to  prove  the  ad- 
venture with  a  scarred  cheek. 


LI 


PEARL-SHELL   AND   PIRACY 

IT  is  not  from  the  pearls  that  the  fleet-owner  de- 
1  rives  his  profit.     It  is  from  the  shell.     Not  long 
a«'o  a  great  pearl  from  the  Thursday  Island  grounds 
was   exhibited    in    Melbourne  -a   perfect   pearl   of 
thirty-two    and    one-half    grains,    valued    then   at 
£i  ooo      It  was  a  rare  find.     The  quest  of  the  pearl 
is  so  uncertain  at  best,  however,  and  the  honesty  of 
the  divers  so  doubtful,  and  their  tricks  of  concealment 
so  sly  and  cunning  and  many,  that  the  pearhng  own- 
er   to  put  his  undertaking  on  a  dependable  basis, 
yields  the  pearls  to  the  crews  in  an  arrangement  for 
their  labor,  and  takes  a  sure  profit  from  the  sale  of 
the  shell.     Shell  is  cash  at  Thursday  Island,  as  safe 
and  potent  as  legal  tender;    it  can  surely  be  mar- 
keted, and  fetches  a  hundred  pounds  a  ton,  more 
or  less— having  once  soared  to  four  hundred  pounds 
a  ton.     In  a  recent  year  the  value  of  the  Australian 
export  of  shell  was  more  th-n  £300,000;  in  the  same 
year  the  value  of  the  pearls  exported  was  not  quite 
£  1 00,000.     Now  that  the  quest  of  the  pearl  has  been 
systemati7-ed  to  what  is  called  a  cold  business  propo- 
sition, the  romance  has  gone  out  of  it— a  romance 
of  a  divertingly  blood-curdling  description;  yet  there 
is  an  occasional  incident  of  a  sort  to  raise  the  hair 

288 


PEARL-SHELL    AND    PIRACY 

of  a  man  whose  feet  are  used  to  pavements  and  whose 
heart  beats  quickly  when   the  unusual  confronts 

him.  , 

Not  many  years  ago  a  Malay  proa  was  wrecked 
on  the  Australian  coast  and  the  crew  of  six  fell  into 
the  hands  of  a  band  of  aborigines.     The  blacks  were 
not  savages;  they  were  half-civilized  fellows— speak- 
ing pidgin  English,  some  of  them,  and  acquainted 
with  the  power  and  measure  of  the  law.     What  fol- 
lowed was  as  cold  and  deliberate  a  piece  of  treachery 
as  could  be  practised  by  shapes  in  a  nightmare.    The 
blacks  undertook  to  lead   the   Malays   to   Bowen 
Strait,  and  to  help  with  the  burden  of  the  goods  they 
had  saved  from  the  wreck,  but  misled  them  to  a 
swamp  instead,  and  there  went  into  camp  with  them 
for  the  night,  apparently  in  the  most  amiable  fash- 
ion.    At  that  time,  they  protested  subsequently  when 
brought  to  trial,  the  blacks  had  not  intended  to  kill 
the  Malays.     It  seems  they  had  misled  the  Malays 
to  the   swamp  in  order   to   despatch  them  conve- 
niently and  in  security  if  the  inclination  should  irre- 
sistibly overtake  them.     The  inclination  mi^ht  over- 
take them,  to  be  sure.     One  never  could  tell  what 
might  happen;  and  if  the  inclination  should  overtake 
them— the  swamp  would  be  an  admirable  place  for 
the  operation.     No  doubt  the  blacks  foresaw  the 
issue  well  enough,  yet  waited  to  determine  the  deed 
--like  a  cowardly  man  tricking  his  conscience  -until 
the  propitious  moment  should  arrive  and  the  afiair 
could  be  undertaken  and  accomplished  before  there 
was  time  for  reconsideration. 

At  any  rate,  there  was  a  frank  discussion  among 
the  blacks  in  camp— the  Malays  and  blacks  sitting 
together,  smiling  together,  on  seeming  friendly  and 

2S9 


( 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

faithful  terms;  and  the  subject  of  that  discussion 
was  the  advisability  of  disposing  of  the  Malays. 
The  Malays  heard  every  word  that  was  spoken,  but, 
having  no  knowledge  of  the  blacks'  language,  could 
not  understand  a  single  fateful  syllable,  and  were 
therefore  neither  warned  nor  perturbed,  but  doubt- 
less, if  they  attended  at  all,  fancied  that  the  con- 
versation had  to  do  with  the  road  to  Bowen  Strait, 
or  some  such  matter  as  that.  A  man  may  here  em- 
ploy his  imagination  at  pleasure — construct  for  him- 
self an  Australian  tropical  swamp,  isolated  from  any 
chance  of  a  saving  interruption,  and  a  little  group 
of  castaway  Malays  resting  in  the  illusion  of  security, 
and  a  band  of  naked  blackfellows,  and  an  exchange 
of  reassuring  smiles  and  a  casually  proceeding  dis- 
cussion, continued  freely  within  hearing  of  the 
doomed  wretches  whom  it  concerned,  but  all  un- 
known to  them.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  following 
discussion  is  not  invented  at  all,  but  paraphrased 
in  colloquial  English  from  the  testimony  adduced 
at  the  trial,  and  fairly  represents  what  occurred. 
"Let's  kill  'em." 

"Oh  no;   we  don't  want  to  kill  'em." 
"Yes;    let's  kill  'em.     It  will  be  much  easier  to 
take  their  goods  away  from  them." 
"Well,  how'll  we  kill  'em?" 
"Let's  cut  some  clubs  and  club  'cm." 
"If  we  kill  'em  we'll  get  into  trouble." 
"No,   we  won't.     Nobody  will  ever  know  any- 
thing about  it." 

"Oh,  what's  the  use  of  killing  'em'" 
"Well,  let's  go  in  the  bush  and  cut  the  clubs,  any- 
how." 

"Might  as  well  cut  the  clubs." 

290 


:M 


1  ♦ 


PEARL-SHELL    AND    PIRACY 

"Come  on,  then!" — and  once  the  clubs  were  cut 
from  the  bush  the  doom  of  the  Malays  was  sealed. 

Not  long  ago,  on  the  pearling-grounds  of  the  west 
coast,  there  was  an  instance  of  old-fashioned  piracy. 
It  had  all  the  elements  a  romancer  could  wish  for — 
except  the  intervention  of  Providence  and  the  es- 
cape of  the  hero.     Captain  Biddies  and  Captain  Rid- 
dell,  each  of  whom  owned  a  pearling-fleet  on  the 
grounds  off  Cape  Bossutt,  met  in  Broome  on  the  eve 
of  a  cruise  of  inspection.     Captain  Riddell  wagered 
Captain  Biddies  that  his  schooner  would  reach  the 
Cape  Bossutt  grounds  first;   and  so  it  was  arranged 
— a  race  of  these  crack  schooners.     There  was  a 
light  wind  next  day.     At  sundown  Captain  Biddies 
observed  that  Captain  Riddell's  Ethel  was  mysteri- 
ously standing  out  to  sea.     He  could  not  account 
for  this  erratic  behavior.    It  troubled  him  when,  next 
morning,  the  Ethel  was  not  in  sight;   and  upon  re- 
turning to  Broome  he  reported  the  singular  disap- 
pearance   of    Captain    Riddell    and    his    pearling- 
schooner:    whereupon  the  Malay  Islands,   Borneo, 
Singapore,  and  Penang  were  notified  that  something 
had  gone  amiss.     The  mystery  of  the  Ethel  was 
presently  solved.     The  tale  is  that  of  the  Chinese 
cook   whose   life   was  indiscreetly   spared   by   the 
mutineers.     A    Malay    named    Pedro    proposed    a 
mutiny,  and,  a  majority  of  the  crew  falling  in  with 
him,   he  initiated   the  execution  of  his  design   by 
tomahawking  the  man  at  the  wheel,  and  tomahawk- 
ing another  white  man  who  chanced  to  be  on  deck, 
and   treacherously  stabbing  Captain   Riddell,   who 
was  in  the  cabin  looking  at  the  chart  and  was  taken 
unaware.     Pedro  proceeded  thereafter  according  to 

J91 


A 


II  .in 


.{I 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

the  best  traditions.  He  took  command  of  the  ship ;  he 
had  the  dead  men  chained  together  and  thrown  over- 
board- he  served  Uquor  to  hearten  the  crew;  he  put 
on  a  sword  and  sash ;  he  killed  an  aborigine  and  threw 
him  to  the  sharks;  he  cleansed  the  schooner  of  blood, 
put  in  at  one  of  the  Malay  Islands,  secreted  the 
pearls  and  shell  ashore,  scuttled  the  schooner,  and 
made  for  the  Straits  Settlements.     It  was  a  de- 
parture from  the  traditions-"  dead  men  tell  no 
tales  "-that  cost  him  dear  m  the  end      He  had 
spared  the  life  of  the  Chinese  cook-and  the  cook 
informed. 

Bevond  Thursday  Is]and,'on  the  road  to  Singapore 
lies  Port  Darwin,  of  the  Northern  Territory-the  last 
port  of  Australia-a  far-away  little  tropical  town  on 
a  windy  bluff  above  a  deep-blue  harbor.     It  was  in 
a  glare  of  blistering  white  sunlight  when  we  landed. 
Port  Darwin  is  the  chief  settlement  of  this  vast, 
vacant  land-a  total  area  of  523.630  square  miles, 
which  in  acres  measures  335.xi6.8oo.     Th^  Euro- 
pean population  of  the  whole,  at  the  time  of  the  last 
census,  was  1,729.  which  is  the  same  as  saymg  one 
European  to  every  three  hundred  square  miles.     In 
addition  there  were  1,302  Chinese,  90  Japanese  and 
146  others.     It  may  be  mentioned,  too.  that  the 
daily  average  number  of  the  population  m  jail  was 
26-    but  this  relatively  remarkable  number  doubt- 
less included  a  goodly  proportion  of  abongines.  of 
whom  it  is  estimated  the  Territory  nourishes  some 
20  000      Port  Darwin  is  connected  with  a  distant 
world  by  means  of  the  overland  telegraph,  a  stretch 
of  wire  measuring  2,230  miles,  which  runs  south 
through  the  dry  interior,  and  it  will  by  and  by  be 

292 


PEARL-SHELL   AND    PIRACY 

connected  with  the  rest  of  the  Australian  world  by 
a  transcontinental  railroad — perhaps  Port  Darwin 
to  Adelaide  of  South  Australia:  which,  by  the  way, 
would  bring  London  within  eighteen  days  of  Mel- 
bourne. The  Northern  Territory  is  the  Never- 
Never  of  Australia.  It  is  in  the  first  raw  stage  of 
the  making,  now — a  slow  and  still  doubtful  develop- 
ment. There  lies  the  land,  at  any  rate,  and  for  any 
man's  taking — the  last  Australian  wilderness — vast 
tropical  spaces  awaiting  occupation — browsing  herds 
and  fields  of  cotton  and  paddy  and  tobacco.  It 
waits,  all  vacant,  still,  as  the  New  South  Wales 
wilderness  once  waited,  and  the  Queensland  acres 
waited,  conferring  wealth  at  last  on  the  pioneers  who 
had  the  foresight  and  the  hardihood  to  challenge 
fortune. 

On  the  road  from  Sydney  to  Singapore  the  swarm- 
ing brown  cities  of  Java  are  the  next  ports  of  call. 
We  called  at  Surabaya,  Samarang,  and  liutavia; 
and  then  we  crossed  the  Java  Sea,  and  a  patch  of 
the  China  Sea — a  passage  in  gray,  misty  weather — 
to  Singapore,  which  was  the  end  of  the  Australian 
detour  from  the  main-traveled  'round-the-world 
road.  It  had  been  a  slow,  rolling  passage  from  Port 
Darwin — a  sleepy  passage,  loafing  along  the  Line, 
in  pleasant  blue  weather.  We  awoke,  all  at  once, 
like  men  reluctant  and  yawning  from  a  doze  in  spring 
sunshine,  and  went  ashore.  It  was  like  waking  from 
a  dream;  and  there  was  that  refreshment,  presently 
— sleep  having  left  the  eyes — which  follows  upon 
good  rest.  We  remember  the  shipmates  of  the  long 
voyage  as  the  people  of  a  dream — familiar,  unreal 
faces,  drifting  through  an  easy  sleep;    and  all  the 

293 


Ji^    I. 


AUSTRALIAN    BYWAYS 

cradled  way  of  that  breezy  blue  passage  is  a  separate 
experience,  like  a  dreatn.  its  elements  abrupt  and 
surprising  and  acceptable,  and  its  end  a  complete 
temiination  and  return  to  the  usual  happenings  of 
life  the  interval  of  it  having  no  continuity  with  any- 
thing before  or  since.     And  I  defy  any  man  to  sad 
from  Sydney  to  Singapore,  touching  New  Gumca 
and  the  ports  of  Java,  in  the  favorable  season,  and 
thereafter  to  possess  this  drowsy  voyage  as  a  dcli- 
nitc  reality.     What  remains,  at  the  end  of  it  all.  wil 
be  a  pleasant  confusion  of  rocking  and  laughter,  ol 
warmth  and  stars  and  sunlit  color,  and  of  the  neigh- 
borhood of  blue  water.     Like  this:    the  ^un-soakcd 
ship  lying  in  the  offing,  on  a  flat,  green  sea.  with  the 
tropiil  odors  of  shore  in  the  air-and  coral  shores 
and  cocoanut  islands  and  naked  savages-and     u 
fresh  wind  and  flash  and  blue  of  the  open-and  the 
serene  color  of  sea  and  sky-and  mist  of  warm  ram 
and  falling  dark-and  a  glow  of  light,  and  meny 
voices,  and  the  clink  of  ice  in  glasses,  and  flapping 
awnings-and  big  black  waves^  running  in    ike  mis- 
chievous children  to  break  with  a  swish  and  flash  of 
white  and  scamper  away-and   the  mornmg  tnlls 
and  chirps  and  flights  of  song  of  the  Dutch  capt^un  s 
canaries,  and  the  noisy  c-hatter  of  the  Dutch  cap- 
tain's accomplished  Dutch  parrot. 


^      I 


THE    F.ND 


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